


give you my lungs (so you could breathe)

by smallbeans



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, POV Johnny, Pneumonia, Sick Character, Sickfic, hurt ponyboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2019-11-12 02:56:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: Ponyboy is more injured after the fight at the fountain than he lets on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just to clarify, I know jack-all about pneumonia and I am a eighteen y/o student who has never had it, so this fic is most likely to be completely inaccurate but it' fiction so who cares :)
> 
> the beginning of this is very canon to the book up until they get to the church. hope ya enjoy <3

****Johnny is sure surprised when he’s woken up by someone shaking him. He's sure he's only just closed his eyes. Instantly, he is aware that he's outside, the cold wind freezing his exposed skin. He peels his eyes open, and is instantly alert by Ponyboy kneeling above him.

"Pony?" He asks, docile confusion clouding him. He sits up slowly and realises after a moment Ponyboy is already on his feet, his eyes large and wild. He looks ready to bolt.

"Come on," he says. "Come on, Johnny. We're running away."

Johnny doesn't ask questions - there's nothing to ask. He climbs up, and he's barely standing before Pony is running across the lot. The youngest Curtis, despite being the smallest of them all in height and weight and age, is the fasted out of the Greaser gang. He can run circles around most of them easily when he really tries. Soda always goes on about how Pony should go for track in school, but the argument always ends with Pony saying how he doesn't want to. Johnny struggles to keep up. In his hysterics, Pony clearly isn't thinking about keeping a slow pace for Johnny, and is instead sprinting like he's got a pack of Socs after him - not that Johnny can ignore that possibility, as he has no idea what they're running away _from_.

They ran for several blocks before they were too out of breath to go on any longer and both slowed to a heavy walk. The only sound that fills the silence around them in their shoe-covered feet pounding the road.

Suddenly, Pony stops. Johnny turns around as the youngest greaser drops to the curb, his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around them.

Johnny sits down beside him, confused as to what is going on. He lays a hand on Pony's shoulder, trying his best to comfort him.

"Easy, Ponyboy," he says softly, "We'll be okay."

It's a few more minutes until Pony calms down some, and when he raises his head he aggressively rubs his red eyes. Johnny knows he's been crying, and it's only then that he notices the split in Pony's lip and slight bruising on his cheek.

"Gotta cigarette?" He asks, his voice badly shaking.

Johnny pulls one out and hands it over, striking a match to light the end. Pony inhales it with no avail, like he's drinking down oxygen instead of smoke.

"Johnny," he says, eyes on the tarmac road, "I'm scared."

"Well, don't be. You're scaring me now, Pony. What happened? I ain't ever seen you bawl like that."

Pony takes a prolonged drag of the cigarette. "It was Darry. He hit me."

Johnny feels his own eyes widen: the Curtis family never hit, and Darry sure as hell never hits Pony. Johnny thought they got along fine, but he recalls earlier in the night Pony going off on one to Cherry about Darry being hard as stone and wanting to ship him off to a boys home.

"I don't know what happened, but I couldn't take him hollering at me and hitting me too," Pony whispers, his voice fragile but growing stronger. "I don't know. . . sometimes we can get along okay, but then all of a sudden he blows up on me or is nagging me about stuff all the time. He didn't use to be like that. We used to get along just fine. . . at least before mom and dad died. Now he can't stand me."

"I think I like it better when the old man's hittin' me," he sighs. Johnny only ever feels invisible when he's home and his father keeps his hands to himself. "At least then I know he knows who I am. I walk into the house, and nobody says anything. I walk out, and nobody still says anything. I can stay away all night and nobody notices. At least you got Soda. I ain't got nobody."

"Shoot, Johnny," Pony replies, sounding miserable. "You've got to the whole gang. Dally didn't slug you tonight 'cause you're the pet. I mean, golly, Johnny, you got the whole damn gang."

Johnny has to bite his lip. He gets that, he knows he has the gang and he has the gang more than Pony despite two of the members being his own blood. People seem to see Pony more as the Curtis' younger brother than one of them. Johnny hates howSteve treats Pony like a burden carry-along, hates how Two-Bit and Dally will always take Johnnys side before Pony's. It must sting after a long time, Johnny knows.

"It ain't the same as having your own folks care about you," Johnny replies, because while the greasers are family, they can never replace the weight of knowing your real family, your _parents_ , don't give two shits about you. "It just ain't the same."

Johnny knows he's got through to Pony. After everything they've been through, Pony can't end things with Darry after one hit. He has every right to be scared, to be hurt and to be angry, and Johnny will support Pony if he really wanted to leave because the Curtis' have supported him like a brother too, but Johnny just wants Pony to know how lucky he is to have a family that's only ever hit him once.

"Can we walk to the park and back?" Pony asks, tossing his dead cigarette on the floor. "Maybe by then I'll be cooled off enough to go home."

"Okay," Johnny says. "Sure, Pony. Let's go."

They got to the park in no time. Johnny is frozen stiff, so he can't imagine how Pony feels in that silly little chopped sweatshirt. He's not like Soda and Darry, he hasn't got beefed arms or muscle to keep him warm. He's scrawny and skinny - another thing that makes him stand out from the greasers.

"Aren't got about to freeze to death, Pony?" He asks, because Pony is using the hand not holding his cigarettes to rub the bare, pale skin.

"I ain't a'woofin'," he replies, and Johnny represses the urge to roll his eyes at the tough act.

They walk into the park, where the grass is glistening with damp and the metal bars of the climbing frames are like holding onto poles of ice.

"It's sure cold tonight," Pony says, nodding towards the water fountain. "You can see the ice around the edges of the water."

Johnny doesn't have a chance to reply before there's a loud blade of a car horn. Johnny jumps out of his skin, and he hears Pony's sharp intake of breath beside him.

Johnny looks around, his heart pounding in his chest like an army is marching through it.

Then he sees it: a blue mustang circling the park.

 _No_ , he thinks. _No, not now. Please, not now._

Johnny loves Pony, but the kid is no match for a car of Socs.

"Fuck," he whispers, unable to stop the curse from coming out. He can feel the panic bubbling inside of him, his stomach is knots so tight he feels like he could vomit.

"What do they want?" Pony asks in a hushed tone, his eyes on the car. Johnny looks at him; he looks like he's ready for a fight, his bust from Darry making him angry now he's calmed down enough from his hysterics. The bruise on his cheek and split lip makes him look tough. "This is our territory. What are Socs doing this far East?"

Johnny shakes his head. He can feel his hands shaking and wills for them to stop. He's always been able to hide his panic, to look aggressive and hard like a greaser. He was hard before too.

"I don't know. But I bet they're looking for us. We picked up their girls."

"Oh, Glory. This is just what I need to top tonight off," he sighs, taking one last long drag of his weed before he tosses it on the floor and stomps it out with the toe of his shoe. "Wanna make a run for it?"

Johnny shakes his head again. "It's too late now. Here they come."

Five Socs are coming straight across the park towards them. Johnny knows instantly that by the way they're staggering and stumbling that they're very drunk, and it only fuels his fear even more. His hand shoots to his back pocket for his switchblade but he doesn't get it out, just the feeling of its outline through his jean pocket assures him enough to stop him from crumbling completely. He can feel the colour draining out of his face, can feel the panic rising like an overflowing sink. His knees are quaking so bad. Fear grips him with it's icy talons.

 _Five to two_ , he thinks, _there's no way they can do this._

Whiskey fills his nose as they get closer. Johnny steps back just as Pony does, obviously feeling as equally as intimidated. He doesn't look it though, he has a stony look on his face, like he does when Steve bluntly tells him he's not allowed to hang out with them. Johnny forces himself to calm down, to make his face blank and hard. They can't know he's scared to death, despite him knowing Pony will be able to see the fear in his eyes the moment they meet.

Johnny's eyes caught sight of the rings on Bob's hand, and the tough persona threatened to crumble once more. He wants to run so bad. He wants to turn and run and not look bad. They glisten in the glow of the pale moon, mocking and taunting. Johnny can feel the weight of them, the slice in his skin and the blow on his cheek. His scar twinges. He can't take his eyes off them, and he knows he's one step away from looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey, whadda ya know?" Bob slurs. He has a silver flask in his hand too. "Here’s the little greasers that picked up our girls."

Johnny swallows thickly.

Bob has the most sadistic, sly grin on his face, lopsided with drink. "Hello, greasers."

"You’re outta your territory," Johnny braves, proud his voice doesn’t shake like his knees are. Instead it comes out low and warning. "You’d better watch it."

Randy swears, his voice so low Johnny can’t make out what he says over the roaring of blood rushing to his ears. He sees him step forward, but Johnny’s eyes are glued to Bob, who’s eyeing him like a meal, his lip rolled back in an animalistic snarl.

"Nope, pal, you’re the ones who’d better watch it. Next time you want a broad, pick up yer own dirty kind."

Johnny see’s, out of the corner of his eye, Pony’s hand curl into a fist. Johnny’s getting mad too, but his eyes are fighting to look down at the rings again.

"You know what a greaser is?" Bob taunts, taking a gulp from his flask. His eyes look hazy, as if he’s just woken up from a long sleep. "White trash with long hair."

Johnny couldn’t stop the gasp that escapes him. Anger burns deep within him, overpowering the fear.

"You know what a Soc is?" Pony replies, and Johnny feels his heart stop at the way his friends voice is shaking with rage. "White trash with Mustangs and madras."

Johnny feels his eyes widen, and then Pony is spitting a wad at them. Johnny is torn between with being impressed and proud or being terrified and annoyed Pony would do something so _stupid_. Johnny was planning on going for tough but not engaging, so at least the fight would be a little bit easier. Biting back like that is only adding fuel to their fire.

Bob shakes his head, his smile turning mischievous. "You could use a bath, greaser, and a good work over. And we’ve got all night to do it."

Johnny feels his heart sink.

"Give the kid a bath, David."

It was like a gun firing at the start of a race. Everyone moved at once. Pony split, ducking out of the way and attempting to run it, but he barely got two paces before David was grabbing him by the arm, twisting it behind his back tightly and shoving his face into the water of the fountain. Adrenaline flooded Johnny’s system and he wasn’t thinking as he grabbed David by the shoulders, yanking him back. David is lifting and plunging Pony in the fountain. Pony struggles enough that he seems to wiggle his arm out of David’s hold.

A hand wraps around Johnny’s throat and suddenly, he’s is being thrown back. He lands hard on his back, the wind being knocked out from his lungs. He coughs but barely has time to open his eyes before a foot is kicking him in the ribs.

He gasps, crying out despite himself. His chest is burning as he snaps his eyes open. Hands yank him up by the armpits, holding his arms back as another Soc punches him twice in the stomach. They throw him back on the floor, and someone says above him, "Stay down, kid."

He rolls onto his side when the next kick doesn’t come. He looks up, not moving from the grass and see’s them all around the fountain. They have Pony on his back, two Soc’s holding his thrashing legs, Randy and Bob holding his head and arms as they lift him up and down. He hears Pony shouting, crying out his name between gasps and sputters.

 _They’re gonna drown him_ , Johnny can’t stop himself from thinking. _They’re gonna fucking kill him._

Johnny reaches into his back pocket. His hand closes around the switch knife and he pulls it out, flicking it open. He climbs to his feet, ignoring the fresh ache in his chest. None of the Soc’s are paying attention to him, their focus entirely on Pony.

"Give up, you filthy greaser," Randy shouts.

"Give me the blade, David," Bob says. He’s the one holding Pony’s head down below the water. "I’ll speed this up."

Johnny see’s David pull a blade out from his jacket pocket, handing it over Pony’s body into Bob’s hand.

It’s Pony’s legs falling limp that does it. The moment Johnny sees the thrashing stop, his limbs flopping as the fight disappears from him, Johnny sees red.

He’s running forward, blade out, vision and sense gone. He screams, driving the blade into Bob’s side. He feels him jerk, hears the screams and shouts of the other Soc’s. Bob stumbles back, his eyes wide, mouth open. He crumbles before his friends have even sprinted out of the lot, body folding like a deck chair. Johnny reaches into the fountain where Pony is floating, pulling the younger boy up by the fabric of his top. Pony’s body is heavy despite his skinniness - a dead weight, Johnny’s mind unhelpfully supplies - limp and flopping, neck snapped back his head rolls and sways with no control. Johnny drags him out of the water and he falls bonelessly onto the floor. He’s sopping wet, eyes closed and skin so white he’s glowing in the moonlight, the bruise on his cheek standing out like a black smear.

Johnny is too shocked to shake Pony awake. As soon as he hears he’s breathing, he leaves his body curled on the floor and sits himself back against the fountain wall.

Bob is just across the slabs from them, still on the floor where he fell. There’s a growing pool of blood underneath him. His eyes are closed, his chest still.

_I killed him._

_I killed a Soc._

_I killed a_ person _._

Johnny’s mind is going a mile a minute. The knife, covered in blood, is still in his hand. He can’t force himself to let it go. The voices are so loud he’s a minute away from ripping his hair from his scalp when Pony jerks beside him. It’s a long moment before he moves again, his chest spasming as he coughs weakly. Johnny hears the sound of water splashing against the concrete and his half-conscious mind knows Pony is coughing up the water he most likely swallowed. Johnny wants to help, wants to make sure he’s okay but he also can’t look away from Bob, from the _body_.

It’s a few minutes before Pony moves, after laying on the concrete, his chest rising and falling the only thing separating him from a dead body.

Johnny feels like his world has become narrower. He’s losing time, because when he remembers where he is what feels like a second later, Pony is sitting up, looking at him.

"I killed him," Johnny says, not looking away. "I killed that boy."

"Wha. . ." Pony starts, voice barely a rasp, but he trails off and Johnny knows he’s seen Bob.

The silence stretches between them.

"Johnny," Pony says. He sounds weak. "I. . . I think I’m gonna be sick."

"Go ahead," Johnny replies. His voice is steady but resigned. The panic is starting to ease, numbness taking over. "I won’t look at you."

He doesn’t look, but he does hear Pony gag and gasp as he vomits quietly.

"You really killed him, huh, Johnny?"

"Yeah," Johnny admits, the panic closing his throat. "I had to. They were drowning you, Pony. They were gonna kill you. Bob had a blade, he was. . . he was. . ."

Pony swears.

"They ran when I stabbed him. They all ran."

"Johnny!" Pony cries. "What. . . what are we gonna do? They put you in the electric chair for killing people!" Johnny can feel Pony shaking trembling so much he’s making the water drop out of his hair. "I’m scared, Johnny. What are we gonna do?"

Johnny snaps into his body again. He’s suddenly aware of his hands and feet. He jumps up, grabbing Pony by the front of his wet sweatshirt like he had when he’d pulled him from the fountain. "Calm down, Ponyboy. Get ahold of yourself."

Pony nods shakily. He shakes Johnny off a moment later. "Okay. I’m okay now."

Johnny knows he’s not: he’s pale, wet and shaking like a leaf, but at least he’s not in hysterics anymore.

Johnny looks around nervously. The nonchalant, tough act isn’t going to last long. He hates lying around Pony when all he wants to do is break down and disappear, but at least one of them needs to be calm. He tries to think: what do you do in situations like this?

"We gotta get outta here," he says, bending down to wipe the blade on the grass. The blood comes off easy, the sight of it smeared on the grass making his stomach flip. He pockets it quickly. "We gotta get somewhere. Run away. The police will be here soon. We’ll need money, and maybe a gun, and a plan."

Pony is nodding, but his head is moving with such small movements it’s as if he’s not really registering what Johnny is saying. This is what Darry is on about, Johnny realises.

"Dally," Johnny thinks aloud. "Dally’ll get us out of here."

Pony sighs, nodding again. He blinks slowly. His skin is washed white, hair and clothes still cold. Johnny can see the fine tremors running through him. He’s still breathing funny, Johnny supposes he must have swallowed a lot of the fountain water.

"Are you alright, Pony?"

He nods. "Where can we find Dally then"?

"Try Buck Merril’s place," Johnny replies. "Dally said something about there being a party there this afternoon. He might be there."

"Worth a shot," Pony murmurs.

When they start walking, Pony is shaking so bad he almost face plants the park floor. Johnny asks if he’s alright again, but Pony just says he’s cold. They hurry across town and Buck answers the door when they knock. With a can of beer in his hand, he looks down at them with a heated glare. "What’d ya want?"

"Dally," Johnny answers. He looks over his shoulder at Pony, who’s hunched over and shoulders hiked up to his ears. "We gotta see Dally."

"He’s busy," Buck snaps.

"Tell him it’s Johnny and Pony," Pony says from behind. "He’ll come."

Buck glares at the younger boy for a second before stumbling back into the house.

Johnny let’s out a breath of relief he didn’t realise he was holding.

Dally appears a minute later, shirtless and his jeans hanging low on his hips. He doesn’t look completely wasted, if anything he looks more sober than not. Johnny supposes that’s a good thing. Pony has slumped behind him, leaning tiredly against the wall. He’s as stiff as a board from the cold.

"Okay, kids, whatta ya want me for?" Dally asks.

Johnny tells him everything. He doesn’t even think twice that they’re standing in a doorway surrounded by people. Johnny is just too relieved to see Dally, to see _someone_. And Dally doesn’t bat an eyelash.

"We figured you’d be the one who’d get us out of here if anyone could," Johnny finishes. "I’m sorry we got you away from the party."

"Ah, shoot, kid," Dally replies, looking over his shoulder. "I was only in the bedroom. Don’t look at me like that, Pony. It wasn’t anything like that, kid, I was just asleep - or I was tryin’ to be with all this racket. I had a run in with Hank Williams, cracked a few of my ribs," he rubs his side and sighs, "Wait a sec, then, and I’ll see what I can do about this damn mess." Then, when there’s a wet cough behind Johnny, he takes a closer look at Pony. "Ponyboy, are you wet?"

Pony’s teeth are chattering audibly. "Y-y-y-e-yes-s."

"Glory, kid! And look at ya face!" Dally shouts, opening the door further and dragging Pony in, motioning for Johnny to follow. "Pneumonia will get you before the cops do at this rate."

He practically drags Pony to an empty bedroom upstairs, swearing and cursing at him all the way. Johnny listens with a pit in his stomach.

He pushes Pony to sit down on the bed and Johnny follows in suit.

"Get that sweatshirt off, kid," Dally says, throwing a towel at him. "Dry off and wait here. At least Johnny’s got his jean jacket. You shoulda know better than to be running away in just a top, and a wet one at that. Don’t you ever use your head?"

Johnny see’s Pony’s wide eyes follow Dally out of the room. He seems startled, but Johnny can’t figure out why. A moment later, Pony is pulling the sodden sweatshirt over his head and rubbing his chest and hair dry.

Johnny falls back on the bed, the events of the night making his chest feel like it weighs a ton. "Wish I had a weed," he says.

He can feel the bed shaking and knows it Pony, but doesn’t want to say anything incase it’s not from the cold.

Dally comes back and closes the door gently but quickly.

"Here—" he hands Johnny a black gun and roll of bills, "the gun’s loaded. For glory’s sake, don’t point it at me, Johnny. There’s fifty bucks there. It’s all I could get out of Merril tonight."

Johnny pockets the gun and bills while Pony sits there, still shaking.

"Oi, Pony, do Darry and Sodapop know about this?"

Pony shakes his head, closing his eyes as he clears his throat.

Dally sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Damn. I ain’t itching to be the one to tell Darry about this and get my head knocked in."

"Then don’t tell him," Pony croaks, rubbing his arms.

"Here," Dally hands Pony a shirt about a million sizes too big. "It’s Bucks, ya ain’t exactly the same size, but it’s dry at least."

Pony mumbles a thanks and Dally hands him his brown leather jacket too.

"It’ll get cold where you’re going," he adds, "Take this as you can’t risk lugging blankets with you."

Pony shrugs on the shirt and jacket. They both swallow him whole.

Dally shakes his head. "You’re damn small, kid." He sits down on a chair in front of the bed. "Right. You two are gonna hop on the three-fifteen freight to Windrixville. There’s an old abandoned church on top of Jay Mountain. You won’t have to worry about water 'cause there’s a pump in the back. Use the money to buy a weeks supply of food as soon as you get there, before the story has a chance to make the papers. After that, don’t stick your ruddy noses out the door. I’ll get up there as soon as it’s clear." He runs a hand down his face, shaking his head. "Man, and I thought New York was the only place I would get mixed up in a murder rap."

Johnny shudders when Dally says 'murder'. It sounds so dark, so gruesome, so _permanent_. It hits Johnny like a freight train - he is a murderer.

Before Johnny knows it, they’re being walked to the door with Dally turning off the porch light before they go out.

"Get going," he says, and a moment later, he messes up Johnny’s shaggy dark hair. Something warm glows in Johnny’s chest, just beneath the weight of worry thats still sitting like a stone on his ribs. "Take care, kid."

"Thanks, Dally."

 

"Now!" Johnny whispers, and they dash out of the weeds they were crouched in, and pull themselves into an open boxcar. They press themselves against the wall, holding their breath and hiding in the dark shadows as the railroad workers walk up and down the tracks. When one pokes their head inside, the pair freeze, hearts pounding their a herd of running horses in their chests.

When the boxcar rattles as the train starts and begins to move along the tracks, the pair of them sink to the cold floor.

The gun in the back of Johnny’s jeans is a heavy weight against his back. He takes it out, gingerly laying it on the floor.

"The first stop will be Windrixville," he says. "I don’t see why he gave me this. I couldn’t shoot anybody."

Pony doesn’t reply. He lets out a cough, wrapping Dally’s jacket tighter around his body.

"Come 'ere," Johnny says, and he wraps his arm around Pony’s narrow shoulders, pulling him into his side. Pony slides down immediately, using Johnny’s stretched out legs are a pillow, his body curled in a tight ball, folded legs to his chest and arms tucked in-between. His breathing evens out almost as soon as his eyes close. Johnny notices the rhythmic tremors shuddering through his younger friends body, shakes and shivers. He’s curled up small as if he’s cold, and even when Johnny’s eyes get tired and threaten to close, he doesn’t have the heart to wake up Ponyboy so he can sleep instead. He’ll be able to sleep at the church when they get there, and he’s convinced the never ending rampage of turmoil in his head won’t let him truly sleep.

Johnny had never imagined it would be him who’d be on the run for a murder, nor did he ever think Ponyboy of all people would be coming with him. They’re the small greasers, the soft ones who barely say a word and only throw a punch when the absolutely have to. They’re not murderers, they’re not runaways. Or at least, they weren’t.

Every time Johnny’s eyes slip closed, his mind flashes the memory of Pony’s thrashing body being held under the water, the look in Bob’s eyes when he stumbled back, hand on his bloody ribs. He see’s Bob’s crumpled form, still and cold and bleeding out. He clenched his fist and feels the switchblade between his fingers. He knows it’s in his back pocket, but he can’t force himself to reach back and touch it.

Johnny doesn’t know how long it is until the train rolls and judders to a stop.

Windrixville.

Johnny rushes to shake Pony’s shoulder at the same time as he drags him to his feet by the armpits. Pony is barely coherent, eyes hazy and half-asleep.

"Come on, Ponyboy," Johnny whispers, holding his wrist. "We gotta jump now."

They leap from the cart, and Pony must really be out of it as as soon as his feet hit the pebbled ground, his knees buckle and he crashes.

It surprises Johnny so much he stumbles too, feeling his knees and palms scrap against the stones with sharp stings.

"Dammit, Pony," he curses, yanking the younger teen to his feet and running into the weeds, out of sight and away from the train.

Pony is coughing like mad when they get far enough away, but Johnny is still paranoid the train workers will hear. He hisses for Pony to stop, to shut up, but Pony just wheezes and chokes on his own breath.

Johnny claps his back, his own breath rushed from the adrenaline and running.

"Glory, Ponyboy," he says after a minute. "What was all that about?"

Pony shakes his head, flopping back in the damp grass. His eyes are closed, breath coming out like he’s run a marathon in a heatwave.

Johnny looks up. The clouds above them are pink and pastel, the sky in the east golden on the hills. Dawn is coming. Johnny can hear birds singing.

 _So, this is what the country is like_ , he thinks, breathing calming downs some.

He rubs his knees. "Really skinned up my knees falling over then," he says. "You sure flopped down, Pony."

"'M sorry," Pony replies, opening his eyes and looking at him. "Legs weren’t working properly."

"No kidding," Johnny chuckles. "Surprised you didn’t put my legs to sleep sleeping on 'em like that."

"Why didn’t you wake me up?"

"Seemed like you needed it. I didn’t want to wake you up till I had to."

Pony nods. His breathing doesn’t seem to have calmed down as much as Johnny’s, but he supposes the younger greaser was less prepared for the jump and run.

"How's ya face?" Johnny asks - the bruise on his cheek has turned into a watercolour painting of blacks and purples. Darry knocked him real good to leave a bruise like that.

Pony shrugs. "It's fine. How do we find Jay Mountain?"

"Go ask someone, I suppose," Johnny says. "The story won’t be in the papers yet. You make like a farm boy taking a walk or somethin’."

Pony lifts his head and looks at him with a furrowed frown. "I don’t look like a farm boy."

"You look more than me," Johnny replies. "Just go down the road and ask the first person you see. Then when you come back run a comb through your hair and quit slouching like a thug."

It’s true, in the morning light Johnny can finally see the unkempt state of his companion. His hair, so normally perfectly greased back, is slanted and messy.

Pony sits up and pulls a comb from his back pocket and runs it through the strands. It helps some.

"Look okay now, Johnnycake?"

Johnny can’t help but think, in that moment, that Pony really does look like his older brother.

"You know, you look an awful lot like Sodapop," he says. "The way you have you hair and everything is the same. I mean, expect you’re eyes, 'cause they’re green."

Pony flushes red. "They ain’t green," he grumbles as he struggles to climb to his feet. "And I look as much like Soda as you so. _He’s_ good-looking."

Johnny barks a laugh as Pony climbs over the fence, heading down the dirt road.

Johnny watches him go before he reclines back in the grass. He watches the sky change through half-focused eyes.

Ponyboy comes back in no time. He’s shaking and shoulders hiked up to his ears, Dally’s jacket drowning him.

"D’you find someone?"

He coughs into his fist and nods.

"Yeah. Come on."

Pony leads him along the road towards a hill. Johnny’s knees sting and ache from when they got off the train, and he can’t imagine how Pony’s must be feeling as he fell much harder. Pony keeps coughing, and he’s out of breath by the time they get to the bottom of the hill.

"You alright, Pony?"

He nods. He looks as tired as Johnny feels.

It takes them almost an hour to get up the hill. There, they find the church and climb in through the back window. Johnny feels a surge in his chest at the sight of the old, rickety building. _This is it_ , he thinks. _This is where they’ll be staying. For how long? It could be forever._

"Have we been here before?"

Pony nods. "Used to come here with my folks. I brought you here once too. Soda, Steve and Two-Bit ended up clowning around though. Remember?"

Johnny does.

Inside is gloomy and old, creepy in it’s own abandoned, grey kind of way. The realisation that they are finally there makes the exhaustion that had been threatening to take Johnny under make itself known. He can barely keep his eyes open as he stumbles and lays down on the cold stone floor. He doesn’t know what happens to Pony, but the last thing he hears is his muffled coughing before sleep envelopes him.

 

Johnny wakes up disoriented. It takes him a few minutes to realise where he is, to remember what is going on. It hits him like a fist to the chest. He feels restless and scared, so he leaves Pony sleeping in the church to go, after laying his jacket over the younger’s shivering body, with writing in the dirt and goes to get supplies, like Dally instructed. He spends every moment in the store a breath away from a panic attack. He feels like everyone is watching him: maybe they are. He knows he looks a state, like the runaway teen that he is. He tried to brush off all the dirt and dust from the church floor, but he still reckons it’s obvious he spent the night sleeping on the ground. He’s on alert, paranoid and struggling to hide it. The time alone from the walk there and back gives Johnny time to think, to process all that has happened and all that is going to happen.

He gets back to the church and finds Ponyboy drinking out of the pump.

When he see’s Johnny, he relaxes the shoulders that had tensed up at the sound of someone coming, and darts over to Johnny so fast he trips and sprawls out on the ground by Johnny’s feet.

He looks up with a grin, propping himself up on his elbows. "Hey, Johnnycake. Fancy seeing you here."

"I swear, Pony, you’re actin’ more like Two-Bit every day."

Pony climbs to his feet and follows Johnny inside.

"What’d you get, then?"

Johnny placed the bag down on a table and started pulling things out.

"A week’s supply of baloney, two loaves of bread, a box of matches," Johnny lists, but Pony seems to get bored and starts digging in the bag himself. Johnny isn’t surprised the first thing he pulls out is the book Johnny snatched for him.

"No way!" he says, sitting down on the end of a dusty pew. He coughs a few times into his hand. "Gone with the Wind. How’d you know I always wanted a copy of this?"

Johnny felt his ears burn and hide his face by digging more supplies out of the crate. "I remember you saying about it once then we went to see that movie. Remember? I figured you'd wanna read it out loud and help kill time or somethin'."

Johnny risks a glance at the younger boy and sees Pony smiling down at the wad of printed paper.

"Thanks, Johnny," he says, putting the book down and climbing to his feet again. He digs through the bag, murmuring as he goes.

Suddenly, he stops. Johnny looks up: Pony is holding a bottle of peroxide.

He looks up with eyes as wide as saucers. "Johnny. . . you ain't thinking 'bout. . ."

Johnny sighs through his nose. "You know we gotta do this, Pony. We gotta cut our hair, and you're gonna bleach yours," he reaches back and pulls out the knife from his back pocket. "The papers will have our descriptions. If we wanna keep going, we can't fit them."

Pony's face has lost more colour with shock. His hands fly to his hair. "No! No, Johnny, not my hair!"

"We'd have to cut it anyway if we got caught. You know the first thing they do is make you cut ye hair."

Pony's face is a painting of sour disappointment.

"I don't see why, Dally could just as easily mug someone with short hair as he does long."

"I know. I don't know why either."

Pony looks defeated.

"I'm gonna cut mine too, and wash the grease out. I can't bleach it though, I'm too dark skinned for blonde hair to look natural," when Pony doesn't say anything, but instead looks at the ground, Johnny begs, "Oh, come on, Ponyboy. It'll grow back."

Pony looks a state when it's done with. Bleached and cut, he could be a totally different person. He looks as sour as he did when he heard Johnny's idea.

Johnny feels kind of bad when it's done with, because Pony does look lousy and Johnny knows he's not going to look as bad.

Johnny was cold and miserable too after he cut and washed his hair. He was chilled from the water and the sun does nothing to warm him up. Pony sits next to him, folded to his chest, head on his knees and arms wrapped around them. He coughs every now and then, and Johnny hopes it's the different coloured hair thats making him look more pale than normal.

"You okay, Ponyboy?" Johnny asks, forcing himself not to chatter his teeth.

Pony nods, letting out a incoherent murmur in reply.

"Are you hungry?"

He shrugs one shoulder. Johnny figures, after a whole day of them not eating, that Pony _should_ be hungry, so he jumps up and grabs two candy bars he got from the shop from inside the church.

He nudges Pony to get him to open his eyes and wordlessly hands him the bar.

"Thanks," Pony replies.

"You sure you’re good, Pony?"

Pony hums and opens the bar, taking a bit and chewing slowly.

"I’m just tired."

"I’m sorry I cut your hair. Y’know why we had to do it."

"I know. It’s not that," Pony replies. "I don’t know what’s the matter."

"Things have just been happening so fast."

"It’s only been a day," Pony says when they go inside. He coughs into his hand. "Just last night we were walking Cherry and Marcia home. Just last night we were laying in the lot, looking up at the stars and snoozin’. . ."

"Stop it!" Johnny snaps so suddenly Pony jumps. "Shut up about last night! I killed someone last night! He couldn’t have been any older than eighteen, and I killed him. He is _dead_. How’d you like to live with that, huh?"

Pony’s eyes are as wide as saucers. He steps forward and pulls Johnny into a hug, wrapping his arms around him.

"I didn’t mean to," Johnny murmurs. A moment later he pulls away. "But they were drowning you, and I was so scared."

Pony sits down on one of the pews. He coughs wetly into the crook of his elbow. "What’re we gonna do?"

"This is my fault," Johnny says, voice growing firmer, surer. "I shouldn’t have brought you. It was stupid bringin’ a little thirteen year old kid along with me. You should go home. You ain’t in any trouble 'cause you didn’t kill him."

Pony’s eyes widen, suddenly filling with tears.

"No," he says, a few rolling down his cheeks. "No. I’m fourteen. I’ve been fourteen for a damn month! I ain’t no kid, and I’m in this just as much as you are. I’ll stop crying in a minute. . . I can’t help it and—"

He chokes off, coughing harshly.

When he doesn’t stop after a minute, Johnny rushes over to him, clapping his back until he’s drawing in raspy, full breaths.

"Damn, don’t cry, Ponyboy, y’know I didn’t mean it like that," Johnny says, sitting down beside him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him against his side. "Don’t cry, Pony. We’ll be okay. We. . . we’ll be okay."

Ponyboy’s shoulders shake as he cries softly until, after a few minutes, he stops and slumps further into Johnny. He glances down, the closed eyes and slack expression on the younger boys face telling Johnny that Pony’s fallen asleep.

He dozes to the sound of his friends raspy breaths.

 

Over the next few days, Pony’s cough gets worse. It’s gets more chesty, almost wet, and he eventually gives up on smoking cigarettes when the moment he puts it to his lips and breaths his face goes red and he chokes like a amateur. He sleeps more, almost constantly dozing with his head Johnny’s lap or curled up in the corner of the church under the layer of jackets. The bruise on his cheek darkens then begins to fade, becoming pink and yellow. He continuously splits the cut on his lip open again and again, everytime he runs his tongue over the slit it bleeds. But he doesn't seem bothered by it, so Johnny doesn't worry either.

They kill time awake together by reading Gone with the Wind and playing poker games, but after Pony complains of having a banging headache after a few sessions of reading, Johnny learns to recognise the squinting of his eyes or the tight frown between his brows as to when they can or shouldn’t read.

They stayed either inside the church or sitting on the back steps looking out across the valley. One morning Ponyboy appears to wake up before Johnny and the latter rouses to an empty space beside him. He soon finds his companion on the steps behind the church, wrapped in Buck’s oversized shirt and Dally’s worn leather jacket. As Johnny gets closer, he hears the muffled sounds of Pony’s coughing that he’s trying to hide and disguise. He’s got his face pressed into the fabric of Dally’s jacket, his body so hunched over his spine is almost a perfect semi-circle. Johnny supposes Pony is trying to quiet his coughing as to avoid waking him up, but he doesn’t have a chance to dwell on the thought as his eyes are drawn to something else: the entire of the lower valley is a sea of mist, the sky in the east light and golden. The clouds range from grey to pink, touched and tinged with yellow. Johnny has never seen a sunset before, and watches, mesmerised and frozen, as the sun fully rises and the dawn breaks into day.

"Golly," he says, "that sure was pretty." He looks down at Pony, having noticed the flinch when he first spoke. "Sorry, Pony. Did I scare ya?"

"Nah," Pony replies as Johnny sits down beside him.

"That mist was real pretty," Johnny daydreams. "All gold and silver."

Pony only hums.

"Too bad it can't stay like that all the time."

"Nothing gold can stay."

Johnny frowns, and he looks across at Pony. "What?"

"Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leafs a flower, but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to lead, so Eden sank to grief. So dawn goes to day, nothing gold can stay."

Johnny blinks.

"Where'd you learn that?"

Ponyboy looks almost shy. He meets Johnny's eyes for a nanosecond before he looks down at his hands. "It's a poem by Robert Frost. He meant more to it than I'm getting. I always remembered it from school because I never quite got what he meant."

Johnny looks at Pony, and is once again reminded of how different Pony is from everyone in the Greasers, from everyone in town.

"You know. . ." Johnny starts, bumping the younger boys shoulder with his own lonely. "I never noticed colours and clouds and stuff until you start reminding me of them."

Pony looks at him funny, almost confused.

"So?"

"So, you notice the little things, the simple things that no one cares about and everyone forgets but are still there, are still important and--" He points to the distant valley, "you remind us of the pretty things."

"You mean I'm not a proper Greaser," Pony replies, tone somewhat bitter but not biting. He sounds almost defeated. "Y'don't need to remind me. I know I don't fit it with everyone else. I'm not tough like Dally, I'm not strong like Darry, I'm not useful and smart like Steve and Soda, I'm not funny like Two-Bit. No one likes me but you and Soda but that's fine, I know."

Johnny is reminded of what Pony said to Cherry what felt like a lifetime ago: about Darry not giving a damn about Pony. Does Pony really feel this way? Does he really believe none of the Greasers want him around?

"You know that's not true," Johnny says. "You're just a kid, Pony, and I know you don't like it when we tell ya but you're only fourteen, you don't need to be going out and making money or beating up Socs. You're different than that, but it ain't a bad thing."

Pony just hums, coughing a few times. He already looks tired but Johnny can't imagine he was up for very long before Johnny.

"You're family sure is funny?"

Pony looks at him sharply. "What's so funny about it?"

"Soda kinda looks like your mother did, but he acts just exactly like your father. And Darry is the spittin' image of your father, but he ain't wild and laughing all the time like he was. He acts like your mother. And you don't act like either one."

Pony huffs and looks down at his hands again. He's bitten his dirty nails to the quick, dots and smears of blood on his finger tips.

"I know," he says lowly. "Y'know, you're different too. You're tuff, but to us you're a kid too. You see the pretty things to. I mean, I couldn't'a told Two-Bit or Steve or even Darry about the sunrise and the clouds and the poem. It's just you and Soda. And. . . And maybe Cherry Valance."

Johnny huffs a laugh at the last comment. He knew Pony had taken smitten to Cherry, but it appears he's more fascinated by her than in love. He seems more curious about her, like she's a gateway to finding out things about the Socs but not in a devious way. But that's Pony: he's curious and quiet and kind. He doesn't want to fight or argue, he wants to know stuff, which is probably why Darry's been keeping him in school.

"I guess we're both different," Johnny muses.

"I guess," Pony sighs, and it's not long before he's laying down and dozing with his head cushioned on Johnny's clad legs, coughing weakly ever few minutes.

 

Pony gets cold at night. He's almost always wrapped in Dally's jacket now, day and night. Even when they're sitting outside on the back step, washed in the warm beating sun, he's got Dally's jacket wrapped around his small shoulders. Johnny grabs his hands one day and is surprised to find they do actually feel cold.

One night, it must have been three or four days since they got there, Johnny is laying with Pony beside him, his hands cushioned under his head. His head is filled with the same thing he thinks about when Pony is quiet: the knife in his back pocket.

Johnny always thought his biggest problem was his family, his fathers beating fists and his mother cruel words of abuse. But now, Johnny has something else to run from, something else to occupy his dreams and keep him from sleeping soundlessly at night. Every crack outside, he stiffens and wonders, who is it? Is it Dally? Is it the fuzz? Is it his parents? Randy? The Socs? Could, by some paranormal chance, it be Bob? He's constantly on edge, hyper vigilant to every noise and movement in and out of the church. He's forcing himself to put on a brave face for Pony, because the kid is afraid enough as it is let alone to have Johnny reveal how haunted he is by what he's done, but truly, Johnny has never been so scared in his whole life. He wonders what's happened at home, what the Greasers are doing. He wonders, with a twisted stomach, if his parents have noticed he's gone. Would they have seen his face in the paper? Are they even more disappointed in him now? When this is all over, if Johnny gets off scot free, will he go home? _Can_ he go home? Part of him wants to, just one more time, to feel some kind of normalcy. It's sick and twisted and he knows anyone of the guys would beat him themselves if he even voiced that he _wanted_ to go for one more beating, but none of them would understand.

He thinks about them: Two-Bit, Steve, Soda, Darry and Dally. He wonders what they've been doing. He bets Two-Bit has been cracking twice as many jokes to lighten the mood. He imagines Steve has batted an eyelash - especially not for Pony. It's no lie that Steve doesn't like Pony, and he's never tried to make it not clear about his obvious frustration when Pony is around. Johnny imagines Steve dragging Soda to work every morning since they've been gone, telling him he's sure we're fine and that it's Pony's fault for being careless. He can see Soda's eyes, sad and scared and tired with worry. Same with Darry, but Darry would hide it better, he'd hide it through anger and threats and fists.

On the fourth night, Johnny jerks awake with Bob's lifeless face flashing in his vision. The remaining of his nightmare has him shaking, the weight of the switchblade in his back pocket so heavy it's like it's dragging him beneath a water surface. He can't breathe. All he can think about it how _that_ was what killed Bob.

He's up before he's thinking, kicking up the dirt and dust from the old church floor in his scrambling wake to get out. He practically falls out of the back door, stumbling down the steps until he's at the top of the dip to the valley. He yanks the blade out of his pocket, the feeling of it burning a brand into his skin. He swings his arm and throws it with all his strength, all his pent up pain and anxiety and fear and anger. One split mistake that night, and Johnny has landed himself and Pony in his mess over _that knife_. He tries to justify it, and he can justify it, but then he thinks about the fuzz, about Bob being barely eighteen and _dead_.

He goes back inside. He feels both weightless and heavy. He flops back down on the floor and somehow manages to doze off again, but he is soon woken by the sound of someone gagging, and he sits up in confusion to see Pony coughing so hard he's almost making himself sick.

"Glory!" Johnny curses, jumping up to his feet and crouching beside the quivering teen. "Breathe, Pony. Damn, you're gonna choke to death!"

It reminds Johnny horribly of when Pony was in the fountain, sputtering for breath and falling limp with lifelessness. Johnny jumps up, grabbing the small bowl they found on the second day and runs to fill it up at the pump. He dashes back inside, encouraging Pony to drink some through his coughs. He calms down, the coughing seizes.

"That wasn't fun," he rasps after a minute and damn, Johnny cringes at the painful rasp of his voice.

"What was that about?"

"Dunno," Pony says weakly, eyes already dropping closed as he slumps against Johnny. The older boy runs a hand over Pony's bleached hair in comfort, and when he doesn't complain about Johnny touching his hair like he has done, Johnny knows something isn't quite right.

 

Johnny is dozing the next day when he hears the rumble of a car engine. His tired mind is foolishly slow at registering the sound he is hearing and he doesn’t react until he hears footsteps approaching the church. Sitting up into an upright position, Johnny is halfway off the pew bench when the hole they made to break in is filled.

Johnny lets out a breath he had no idea he was holding in.

"Dally," he sighs under his breath, relief to himself. He jumps up to his feet, "Dally!"

Dally grins wolfishly, stepping inside. "Morning, Johnnycake."

Johnny had no idea he could feel the amount of relief he feels at the sight of Dally Winston standing in front of Jim, looking as ragged as if _he’s_ been the one sleeping on a church floor for five days. It takes all of Johnny’s self-control not to sprint across the room and hug the older boy.

"Glory," Dally curses, stepping up to him and ruffling the younger boys hair affectionately. "Look at this. Not a tuff look on you, Johnnycake."

Johnny shrugs him off, cheeks burning. "Lay off, All. We had to do it. Besides, Pony’s looks worse."

"Smart boy," Dally replies. He looks around, "Where is he?"

"Over there," Johnny points to the corner of the church. "He’s sleeping."

Dally wanders across the floor over to the corner where Pony is wrapped in the older boys jacket and Johnny’s own denim.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Dally cheers, nudging Pony with his booted foot. "Wakey, wakes."

Pony grumbles but doesn’t wake. He’s curled on his side, legs bent, and back to the room.

"Dally, be gentle," Johnny says, anxiety twisting tightly in his stomach at the wheezing sounds of Pony’s strained breathing. He’d hope he would be getting better by now. "He’s not feeling too hot."

Dally looks over at him with an oddly blank expression. He looks back down at Pony and bends down to a crouch, shaking the youngest boys shoulder.

"Hey, Ponyboy," he says again. "Wake up, kid."

Pony groans, finally rolling onto his back. He’s pallor than the day before, his eyes hung and bruised with bags despite his almost constant sleeping and dozing. Going onto his back causes him to cough, which turns into a fit of hacking and choking. Johnny rushes to his side, heart racing.

"Sit him up," he demands, grabbing Pony by the shoulders and yanking him into a sitting position. Dally helps, and watches in shock and start as Johnny smacks Pony on the back.

"Glory, kid," Dally says, "Calm down, will ya?"

When Pony stops coughing, he finally looks up at Dally with wide eyes and a tired smile.

"Dally," he rasps. "It’s good to see you."

"I wish I could say the same thing about you, man, but you’re more of a sight for sore eyes than normal."

Pony attempts to shove Dally but it’s weak and only accomplishes almost knocking himself over.

"I see you’re still making use of my jacket. Suppose without all that hair you’re probably colder than normal, ay?"

"Shove off," Pony grumbles, self-consciously running a hand through his messy, blenched, and now oily with narwal greasy, hair. "I know it looks lousy, y’don’t need to tell me twice."

Dally laughs.

"Here, got a letter for ya—" Dally reaches into his denim jacket pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper.

Pony frowns. "Who’s it from?"

"The President of the United States," Dally deadpans, standing up and leaning against the cracked church wall with his hands in his jean pockets. "Who’d you think it’s from, ya bin? It’s from Sodapop."

Pony’s eyes widen. "Soda? But. . . how does he know you. . .?"

"He came over to Buck’s a couple of nights ago and found your sweatshirt. I told him I didn’t know where you are, but he didn’t believe me. He gave me this letter and half his pay check to give to you."

Pony seems bewildered.

"Man, you ought to see Darry, kid," Dally goes on, looking at Pony with as much serious as the guy can muster. "He’s taking you’re disappearance mighty hard."

Pony doesn’t respond to that, but instead snatches the note out of Dally’s hand and unfolds it to begin reading the scrawly, hand-written message.

"Hey, Johnnycake, you got a cancer stick?"

Johnny wordlessly nods and hands him one with a lit match. With Pony no longer smoking like a chimney as normal, they still have a decent amount of cigarettes and matches left.

Uncomfortable with the silence, Johnny can’t keep his burning questions contained any longer.

"Hey, Dally," he calls, and when the older boy looks at him, he asks, "Are the fuzz after us?"

"Of course they’re on you," Dally replies. "You and Pony are front page news, man. They got ya pictures and everything - not that they’ll help now with your new hair."

Pony is still looking down at the letter from Soda, but he raises his middle finger at Dally and the older boy smirks.

He looks back at Johnny.

"They won’t be looking for you around here," he says. "They think you’ve set out for Texas. I’ve got Buck’s T-bird parked on a road a little way down to lead them astray."

Pony looks up from the letter, coughing weakly into his hand. "How come you got hauled in, Dally?"

"Shoot, kid, them bastards down the station know me by now. Anything that happens on our turf and they’re on my ass dragging me in. While I was in there I was able to let slip that you’re hearing for Texas."

Johnny feels his stomach swoop with admiration. He’s always looked up to Dally, more than any of the other Greasers. Dally has always been the most _real_ to Johnny, the most street-smart. Dally knows the ropes, he’s knows the way and the shortcuts. He’s grown up as a criminal, as a street rat and he owns it like a proud title.

Johnny watches Dally take a drag of his cigarette and let the smoke escape his lack lips like a water fountain.

"You can sure cuss good, Dally." Johnny says.

Dally winks at him. "Sure can, Johnnycake. But don’t you kids start picking up on my bad habits now. You two wanna go get something to eat? I skipped breakfast and I’m starved."

" _You’re_ starved?" Johnny squeaks. His stomach rumbles at just the idea.

"You wanna eat or not?"

Johnny stands up. "You’d better believe it."

"Pony?"

Pony has slumped back down against the wall. He blinks up at them tiredly.

"'M not that hungry," he murmurs, eyes drooping closed. He coughs again harshly for a few moments, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

"Are you sure?" Dally asks, frowning. "You guys look like you haven’t eaten a crumb in decades."

Dally’s right: Johnny realises that he hasn’t had a chance to notice because he’s been with Pony the whole time, but they’ve both lost weight. Johnny supposes that’s understandable, as it is also that Pony has lost a lot more than Johnny as he’s gone from having three full meals a day cooked by Darry to baloney sandwiches, most of which he’s been turning down.

"Yeah," Pony replies, hiking Dally’s jacket further up his shoulders. "You guys go, get Johnnycake som’in’ to eat."

Dally grins. "Will do, Ponyboy. You just stay here, yeah? No exploring with that empty head of yours."

Johnny frowns but Dally is already heading to the makeshift door. He hates it, always has and even more now knowing how Pony feels, when the gang joke about Pony being dumb and stupid. If anything, Pony has proven to be the smartest of them all.

Johnny goes over to him, helping him lay back down and pulling the jacket to his shoulders. He coughs weakly, eyes fluttering open. He looks awful: pale and sweaty despite shivering.

"We won’t be long," he says. "I’ll bring you back something."

Pony smiles. "Thanks, Johnny."

Johnny rubs his shoulder and watches his eyes close before Johnny reluctantly stands and follows Dally out.

In the car, Johnny braces himself against the door and the dash, trying to stop his body from being thrown from side to side as Dally skids around corners and mangles the suspension over potholes in the dirt track road.

"Hey, Johnnycake," Dally starts. "What's up with Ponyboy? He sick or som'in'?"

"I think so," Johnny replies.

"He been like that all week? All sleepy and coughing?"

Johnny nods. "Yeah."

"That's not right."

"I know. It should just go away, right? He's just feeling lousy 'cause of what happened."

Dally hums but he sounds as convinced as Johnny feels.

They eat at the Dairy Queen but Johnny feels like he’s only half conscious in his body. He can’t take his mind off Pony, alone at the church, curled up like a pathetic ball he has been doing for the past few days.

Him and Dally don’t speak much, it’s mostly Dally mouthing off and Johnny barely has the mental energy to register what he’s saying and reply.

A hand nudges his shoulder on the brink of harshly.

"What’s up with you, man?" Dally asks as he finishes off his third burger. He taps his head, "You’re actin’ like you’re not all in there."

"Sorry, Dall," Johnny sighs, shaking his head. "Just thinking."

"Well stop before you hurt yourself," Dally laughs, slurping some soda through his straw loudly. He looks around for a moment, seeming bored. "Want to head back? I don’t know how long we can stay out here before you start to look suspicious."

Johnny nods. "Sure. Probably should check on Pony."

The drive back is just as scary and dangerous as the way there, but Johnny’s mind is occupied with getting back to the church as soon as possible.

He’s running in as soon as Dally’s rolled the car to a stop. Pony is still in the corner, sleeping on his side. His breathing is shallow, the rasps and wheezes loud. Since being away from him for a short amount of time, Johnny recognises the way his cheeks are hollow and gaunt, the way his eyes seem sunken into his face. He looks awful.

Dally is beside him, and when Johnny looks up at him, the older is mirroring his face of worry - which is a worry in itself because Dallas Winston _never_ worries.

"I’m going to tell Darry and Soda where you are," he says.

Johnny turns to him in surprise. At the Dairy Queen, Dally had almost bitten his head off when he suggested he turn himself in, and now he’s talking about bringing them to _him?_

"They need to come and see him," Dally goes on, nodding towards the lump that is Ponyboy. "Just incase som’in’s wrong."

Johnny feels his heart race. "Do you think somethings wrong?"

"Well, he’s definitely not right, is he?" Dally deadpans. "He been smoking?"

"He’s stopped. Could barely take a drag without coughing himself sick," Johnny replies.

They both look at Pony for a long moment, listening to his breathing.

"I’ll bring them as soon as I can. It could be a few days, though, so don’t panic if I don’t come back tomorrow," Dally says. He breaks out a grin, ruffling his hair. "Don’t worry your pretty little head."

Johnny ducks under his hand, but it’s futile and his hair is already a mess.

Dally looks at him. "Take care of yourself, Johnnycake. And him."

"I will," Johnny nods. "I will."

 

_— tbc._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shall we pretend it hasn't taken me 6 months to write this second chapter and instead appreciate that i did it! :)
> 
> there is lots of talking in this chapter but i had a lot of loose ends to clear up to finish this fic.
> 
> hope you enjoy! x

****Johnny is worried.

Pony's breathing, if possible, has got worse within hours of Dally's departure. Johnny woke him when he'd got back, made him drink some water and asked if he wanted to read, but Pony shook his head pitifully and said it hurt too much. He was sweating through his clothes, but when Johnny suggested he take them off Pony had whined like when he'd been asked to cut off his hair. His skin is like a furnace to touch, hot and burning and worrying. Johnny feels his anxiety spike with every shuddering, shallow breath Pony strains his lungs to take.

The question still stands, though - what the hell is wrong with him?

Johnny has been trying to convince himself for so long that Pony was just feeling lousy from that night, that he'd be fine once the shock of it all wore off. But it hasn't, and now Johnny feels like a fool for making Pony come with him and keep him here, in a damp, dirty and dingy abandoned church when he's obviously not all well.

Johnny sits with Pony's head in his lap for as long as he can, trying to read _Gone with the Wind_ to him like the younger boy has done to him so many times, but Johnny's anxieties get the better of him and he gives up. He tosses the book down and stands up, cushioning Pony's head carefully on his denim jacket while he walks and paces up and down the isles between the pews. He chews his thumb nails, worry eating at him like a parasite. Pony maybe be sleeping, but he looks far from peaceful.

Johnny isn't sure how much time passes, but it can't be able more than a few hours since Dally left that he hears the sound of a rumbling engine. Alert and hyper vigilant, paranoid stiff, Johnny reacts like a trigger has gone off. He grabs a stick from the floor, chest feeling like an army is marching through it.

 _This is it_ , he thought. _Now they've come for me._

Stick over his shoulder and ready to strike, Johnny goes to the wall and looks through one of the gaps between the wood boarding the window.

He sees two cars, both of which he recognises, and as soon as he sees their faces he drops the stick without thought and runs to the entrance. He gets there just in time for Darry, Sodapop and Dally to appear.

"I thought you said you'd be days," is the first thing Johnny comes out with.

Darry looks down at him. "Where is he? Where's Pony? Pony!"

"Back corner, on the floor," Johnny barely finishes speaking before Darry is barging past him, Soda in tow and they dash to the back of the church.

Johnny looks to Dally.

"They came as soon as I told them," he says, shrugging as if to silently say _'what can you do'_. "They literally dropped what they were doing. I thought Darry was gonna beat my head in if I didn't bring him straight away."

Johnny nods. A pang inside him in angry and jealous: his family wouldn't do that in a million years. Dally must notice this because a moment later he's grabbing Johnny around the shoulders and dragging him inside.

In the corner, Darry and Sodapop are shaking Pony awake. They’re on their knees, the denim of their jeans getting covered in the dirt on the floor.

"Oh, Glory," Soda whispers in clear horror. Pony must be a sight with fresh eyes - hair bleached and chopped, skin and bone as if the little weight he had has melted off him.

Pony’s fever-glazed eyes blink open lethargically and look up at his older brothers. It must take him a moment longer than normal before he realises who’s looking down at him.

"D-Darry? Soda?" He murmurs, voice so hoarse it’s merely a painful croak.

Soda lets out a bubbled laugh of relief, stroking a hand over Pony’s forehead. He still looks up at them like he doesn’t believe they’re truly there.

"Hey, little brother," he says.

Pony quickly rushes into a sitting position, arms visibly shaking beneath him. Darry doesn’t give him any more than a second to struggle before he’s swooping Pony into his arms and hugging him so tight it looks like it could actually hurt. Pony hides his face in Darry's shoulder instantly. Soda falls into them, wrapping his arms around them both until they're a huddled mass of limbs on the floor.

"You're here," Pony rasps, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

"We're here, Ponyboy," Darry replies. "We're here with you."

"You shouldn't be here," Pony says, voice growing higher.

Soda pulls back and looks at them with a frown. "What? Pony, we—"

"You can't be here," Pony repeats, pulling shakily out of Darry’s arms. "Johnny. . . you can't know where we are! They'll take Johnny away—"

"Hey, calm down, Pony," Soda says. "It's okay. No ones gonna know you're up here. You're both safe."

"No," Pony whispers, horror in his face, tears in his eyes. "If you found us, so will they. They'll put Johnny in the chair for what we did."

"Hey, you listen to me, little man," Darry interrupts, stern, authority clear in his voice. Pony looks up at him, face a wash of fear and hysteria. "You and Johnny didn't do nothin'. Y'understand? You guys aren't getting in no trouble on my watch, y'understand?"

Pony swallows audibly. He blinks lethargically, a single year running down his dirty face. Darry reaches up to wipe it away and his fingers linger on the fading bruise still marking Pony's pasty skin.

"I'm sorry," Pony whispers, sounding almost scared, as if he doesn't want to know what Darry is going to say next.

Darry is quiet for a long moment, eyes never breaking their gaze on Pony.

"No," he replies eventually, shaking his head. "No, I'm sorry, Pony. I should'a never hit you. I. . . you know I'd never hit you or Soda. I was. . . I was just—" he breaks off, stroking Pony's head. He laughs suddenly, "You look a right state with that hair, little brother."

Pony, who seemed to have perked up since seeing Darry and Sofa, slumps heavily against Soda's side. He lays out a visibly strained and difficult breath.

"Johnny made me do it," he murmurs, cracking a small smile. "He was too scared to bleach his own though."

Darry laughs. "Can't blame him."

Pony hums, eyes falling closed. He lets out a small cough, his whole body tensing with it, and then he doesn't seem to be able to stop. His shoulders are shaking, quivering underneath Dally's jacket. The harsh, loud hacks seem to fill the church, echoing in the high slumped ceiling. Darry and Soda jump, panic and surprise bright in their faces.

It seems like it's never going to stop. The coughing is so harsh, so rooted it's like he's trying to cough up an organ.

When Pony finally manages to drag in a ragged, hitched breath, he's red in the face and cheeks wet with glossy tears.

"H. . . H-hurts," he gasps, letting out a sob. His face is twisted with pain, his hand is clutching the fabric of his top over his chest. "It hurts, Soda. It hurts."

Soda pulls Pony into him, enveloping him into his chest. He looks up at Darry with a mix of horror and panic.

Darry stands up. "Stay with him," he tells Soda, who nods and without hesitation says, "Of course."

Darry grabs Johnny by the elbow and Dally by the shoulder and pushes them a pace away. His eyes are large and wild, almost scary.

"What is God's name is wrong with him?" The oldest Greaser snarls.

"I. . . I don’t—" Johnny stammers, but Dally almost instantly cuts him off.

"What happened that night? What did they do to him?"

"I didn't think they hurt him that badly—"

" _That badly?_ " Darry roars.

"Glory, Darry," Soda says from the floor. "Let Johnny speak. The kid is as terrified as we are."

Darry stares at them both for a few minutes, the hostile, feral look in his eyes calming.

"Johnny," Soda goes on, voice soft. "What happened that night at the park?"

"They were gonna drown Pony," Johnny whispers. He wills the tears threatening to fill his eyes back. He can't cry. "They had him pinned down in the water fountain. I. . . I didn't know what else to do. Bob had a knife, he was gonna kill us! He said he was gonna speed up putting Pony down."

It's quiet for a long time.

Darry lets out a heavy breath and scrubs a hand down his face.

"Glory, kid," Dally whispers. "Y'didn't say all of that when you came by Merril's place."

Darry looks at him. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew," Dally replies. "I told you guys. I told them to come here, I got them out. Johnny told me there was a fight in the park and they'd stabbed Bob, but I had no idea about Pony in the fountain. . ."

Silence settles over them. The only thing to hear is Pony's ragged breathing.

"Darry," Soda says, and they all look to him and Pony on the floor. Soda has a hand on his brothers forehead, his face drawn with a frown, "He feels real hot, real bad."

Darry rushes to their side, crouching down on one knee, and replacing Soda’s hand on Pony’s forehead with his own. His own face is wrinkled with worry lines, deep in frown.

Pony’s eyes flutter open and he coughs weakly, his chest and shoulders rising and falling.

Darry presses his ear to Pony’s chest, listening as Pony struggles to breathe.

When he pulls back, his expression is grave.

"What?" Soda asks. "What is it, Darry?"

"Pneumonia, I think. I remember this," he replies. "Some guy at work had it. He had to go to hospital."

"Hospital?" Soda cries.

"Hospital isn’t really an option right now," Dally muses.

"Don’t you think we know that, Dally?" Darry snaps.

Dally holds two hands up in mock surrender and Johnny resists the urge to push them down.

His own heart is racing with worry, and every time he looks at Pony, at his head slumped against Soda’s shoulder as if he physically can’t find the strength in his neck to hold it up anymore, Johnny’s stomach tightens like the night he stabbed Bob. He can’t help but blame himself for this, because if he hadn’t killed Bob, they wouldn’t be here and Pony wouldn’t be sick, wouldn’t be possibly _dying_.

 _No_ , Johnny thinks, _he’d already be dead if I hadn’t killed Bob_.

"What are we gonna do?" Soda asks, breaking Johnny out of his spiralling mind.

"We need to go back," Darry starts, and when Soda opens his mouth to argue, he holds up a hand and barrels on, "We need to go back and see if we can find Pony some help. We’re not gonna find him no help hollered up in this shack, y’understand? It’ll look suspicious too, if we’re gone for too long."

Soda nods shakily. "Alright. Alright. I get it."

"You’re just gonna leave him here?" Johnny asks, because his chest feels like it’s vibrating and his hands are shaking so hard at his sides even curling them into fists isn’t helping.

"We gotta, Johnnycake," Dally says, and Johnny turns to him, horrified. "Darry is right, we can’t look suspicious staying up here and if Pony is sick enough to need a hospital, we gotta find a way of getting him one."

"By leaving him?" Johnny cries.

"Johnny, kid, you gotta understand this is the only way. You and Pony are wanted by every cop in the county, you can’t come with us yet."

"But he’s _sick—_ "

"And that’s why we’re gonna be finding him some help," Darry explains, standing up. He puts a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. "I know you’re scared, Johnny, but we’re gonna fix this. You and Pony are gonna be able to come home soon."

Johnny lets to a shaky breath. "I’m gonna turn myself in."

Darry blinks. "You. . . what?"

"Johnny, we already talked about this—" Dally starts, but Johnny cuts him off sharply.

"If I turn myself in, Pony can go home."

"If you turn yourself in, you’re gonna go straight in the chair!" Dally shouts.

"Wait. . ." Darry holds a hand up. He looks at Johnny, his gaze so much like a scared fathers. "Johnny, if you turn yourself in, they might not give you a trial. They _could_ put you straight in the chair."

Johnny just shakes his head. "Pony needs a hospital."

Darry looks at Johnny like he just rose the sun in the sky.

"That’s. . ." he trails off, clearing his throat. His face becomes steel again. "Don’t do anything yet. We’ll be back in a few days after we’ve figured out what to do. In the mean time, you two are gonna stay here. Is there anything you need? Anything we can bring you?"

Johnny shakes his head. "Just. . . just hurry back."

Darry nods and turns back to his brothers.

"Pony," he shakes his youngest brother awake. "Pony, what else hurts?"

Pony lets out a soft groan, "Ev’ryth’ng."

"Specifics, Pone."

"M’head. Chest. Skin. Ev’ryth’ng aches."

"Is there anything that doesn’t hurt?"

Pony looks at his older brother with glazed, half hooded eyes. "M’eyebrows."

Surprisingly, everyone finds it in themselves to laugh. Pony doesn’t seem to have been trying to be funny, but his comment works anyways and they all crack and chuckle.

"Alright, little brother," Darry replies, running a hand through his bleached, messy hair. "Get some sleep, yeah? We’re gonna be back real soon. You’re gonna be fine real soon."

"M’kay," Pony murmurs, eyes already falling shut.

Soda is cradling him and slowly lays him down, resting Pony’s head on the balled up jacket again. He strokes his cheek and Pony’s eyes drag open.

"Please come back," he rasps, voice cracking with emotion.

Soda looks moments away from tears when he nods, sniffing, "Of course we will. Don’t doubt us for a second, Pony. We’re all we’ve got, remember? We’re not going to leave you behind."

"Johnny," Pony whispers, eyes clearing for a moment. "Protect Johnny."

"We will. I swear, Pony. Just rest now, okay? We’re gonna get you the help you need."

"M’kay," Pony replies again, and then his eyes are rolling and he’s slumping against the cold, dirty floor.

Soda doesn’t move for a long moment until Darry lays a hand on his shoulder. Silently, he rises, and Johnny finally see’s the tears shining on his flushed cheeks. Soda looks up at Darry, blinking rapidly.

Darry nods, squeezing his shoulder. "I know."

Soda crumples and falls into Darry, his head tucking into his chest. Darry holds him, and Johnny feels his own stomach tighten at the sight. They could lose their brother because of _him._

Darry looks across at Johnny when Soda breaks away. He tells Soda to wait in the car and when Soda starts going, he nods at Dally and tells him to go too.

It's just Johnny then, looking up at the wrath of Darry, who overshadows him like a tower.

Johnny swallows thickly, anticipating for Darry to pound him for letting this happen to his younger brother. Johnny knows he deserves this: he's the reason Pony is in this state.

Darry just sighs and reaches out - Johnny barely suppresses the flinch sitting under his skin. Darry doesn't hit him though, he just rests his hand on Johnny's shoulder and gives it a subtle squeeze.

"I. . ." Johnny starts, but he really doesn't know what to say. Is 'sorry' enough?

Darry squeezes his shoulder again before Soda is shouting his name from outside and Darry is moving away, taking his hand back and walking around Johnny.

Johnny feels like he's not even there. He feels like Darry could walk through him, like a ghost.

He hears footsteps behind him and he turns in time to see Dally come running back in. He slows at the door and walks towards Johnny. He's panting slightly, but still manages to look fresh and chilled as he shoves his denim jacket away and rests his hands on his hips.

"You gon' be alright for the next few days? Darry and Soda are gonna grab you both some food when they get home and I'll bring it up when the coast is clear," Dally explains.

Johnny nods. "Yeah. Sure."

Dally ducks his head slightly to see Johnny's better. "You alright, Johnnycake?"

Johnny nods again. He swallows the emotion sitting hot and heavy in his throat. He will not cry.

"Yeah," he manages. "Yeah I'm fine. Get goin', Dall."

 _Please hurry back_ goes unsaid, but they both hear it. Dally flashes him a smile before he's roughing up his hair and dashing back out. The car rumbles a moment later and Johnny is alone again.

 

"You okay, Pone?"

"Yeah."

"Are you lyin' to me?"

". . . Yeah."

Johnny chuckles despite himself. He's on the floor, leaning against the gruddy church wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, Pony's head pillowed on his thighs.

"Naw, this ain't working, Ponyboy," he grumbles, closing the book. He tosses the lump of paper down on the dirt and it slams with a loud, echoing thud. When he feels Pony flinch against him, he grimaces, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," Pony murmurs, sounding sleepy. He always sounds sleepy now, and raspy.

"It just ain't the same when it's not you reading," Johnny sighs. "I ain't no good at it like you."

"I like your reading," Pony replies.

Johnny smiles, running his hand through the younger boys chopped and bleached hair. "Thanks, Pony."

It's been two days since Dally brought the Curtis brothers up. Two days of Pony's raspy, short breaths painfully aching his lungs and making them rattle like pills in bottles. Two days of Johnny worrying himself sick whenever Pony closes his eyes, sunken and bruises, he fears they won't open again. He's starting to believe that Pony _is_ dying. He looks sick, more sick than Johnny has ever seen a person. He already looks like a corpse, and if it wasn't for the loud crackles of his breathing, Johnny would be more than convinced his friend is already gone.

It's only been two days, but it's been two days too long.

"Y'want something to eat?"

Pony shakes his head slightly against the dirt-stained denim of Johnny's jeans. "M'not hungry."

"Well, you should be. Just have something small. Please?"

"I don't wanna, Johnny," Pony replies. "M'stomach and chest hurt too much."

"Please, Pone? For me? Darry and Soda wouldn't want you to starve yourself too."

He knows it's a low blow, mentioning his brothers, but it works none-the-less. Pony manages to gum and chew on some bread but declines the bologne before Johnny can ever string the sentence together.

"I think we might have some chocolate bars left if you want one of those," Johnny offers, but Pony just shakes his head, tossing the half eaten slice of bread on the floor. He wraps Dally's jacket tighter around his shoulders and chest, folding his arms against himself before he lays down on Johnny's legs again.

"You done, Pony?"

A hum is his quiet reply. Worry grips him tighter with its talon claws. 

"What about some water?" When he doesn't get a reply, he asks, voice trembling with emotional plea, "Please, Pony. Please, just a few sips. You'll feel better, I promise."

"M'kay," Pony mumbles, already sounding sleepy again. He lifts his head so Johnny can move outside to fill up a cup of water. When he comes back in, Pony is curled in a ball with his eyes closed.

He shakes his friends shoulder. "Pony, water."

It takes a worryingly long time for the young boy to peel his eyes open, and even then they're glazed and unfocused. They take too long to lose the frosted surface and a shaky hand reaches out for the cup.

"Come 'ere," Johnny says, helping Pony sit up and feeds him the water. "Better?"

Pony nods, eyes already closing again. Johnny has a feeling Pony is lying to keep him happy, to make him worry less.

"Y'sure are sleeping a lot, Pone," he murmurs, reaching over to run his fingers through Pony's hair. He brushed over the sizzling hot skin of his forehead.

"Sorry," Pony slurs, eyes struggling to fight to stay open.

Johnny shakes his head. "You should sleep. It will help you get better."

He doesn't know if anything is going to get Pony better, but whenever Johnny's been sick and camping at the Curtis' Darry's always said sleep is the best cure.

A long time after Johnny thought Pony had gone to sleep, a drowsy, weak voice breaks the silence of the church, "Are you okay, Johnny?"

Johnny looks at the younger boy. "I'm fine, Pony."

"Are you sure?" Pony asks. His eyes are closed and he doesn't move, but he's still talking. "It wasn't your fault, y'know."

Johnny feels his skin go cold. "What's not my fault?"

"What's happened. It's mine, I was the one that made us go to the park, I was the one that spat at Bob," Pony says, and Johnny can feel his stomach sink to the floor. "Y'didn't do anything, Johnny. You protected me cause I couldn't protect myself."

"That's what Greasers are for," Johnny replies numbly. 

"Still not your fault," Pony murmurs. "I can hear you blaming yourself from here. None of this is your fault."

"You'd be at home right now if it wasn't for me," Johnny insists. "You wouldn't be hollered up here, sick and. . ." He can't bring himself to say 'dying'. It sounds too final. Too morbid. "Sick and rough if I didn't kill that damn Soc."

"I'd be dead if you didn't, Johnny," Pony replies. He finally opens his eyes, though they creased with grimace. Is he still in pain? "We're as guilty as each other."

Johnny shakes his head quickly. "You're innocent, Pony."

"The judge and the police ain't gonna think that," Pony says. "We're in this together, 'aight?"

Johnny smiles, despite all of his skin being covered in goosebumps. "Thanks, Pony."

Pony hums in return and Johnny runs his hand through the younger boys hair again. "Get some sleep, yeah?"

Pony hums again, already sounding drowsy. As Johnny listens to his strained breaths get slightly looser with sleep, he prays that Darry and Soda will be back soon.

 

"We're running outta food," Johnny says the next day. "We're gonna have to go shopping again."

"Thought you bought a lot," Pony replies. He's awake, slightly dazed and suffering but he's sitting up, sipping on some water. It's more than Johnny could have asked for.

"I did, but all we got left are two bars and bologne," Johnny sighs.

"Isn't Darry and Soda gonna be back soon?" Pony asks.

Johnny looks across from him where he's standing at the table and Pony is leaning against the crumbling wall of the church.

He shrugs one shoulder, "I don't know, man. I just don't know. They said they'd be back soon, but they must have a lot to figure out. We're in some deep trouble, and I think they gotta sort that out before they can get you home."

"They'll be looking out for you too," Pony adds.

Johnny doesn't say anything, but he hopes Ponyboy is right. While Johnny is trying to be brave and wouldn’t blame the Curtis' in the slightest for only clearing Ponyboy’s name, he’s going to be devastated if they come back with handcuffs for him. He doesn’t in anyway want to go home. He never has, and most likely never will, but he doesn’t want to go to jail either. Death or the chair, they both scare him.

Ponyboy and him have talked about it in the past. They’ve had the dark conversations of what would happen and how they feel if they didn’t wake up in the morning. Johnny’s always worried himself sick when Pony started to reveal in subtle hints after his parents died and Darry got hard on him how he wouldn’t be fussed to find out tomorrow he was dying. Johnny knows Pony worries the same for him, but this whole ordeal has revealed to Johnny that despite what he’s said, he’s not ready to die. He’s 16, he’s barely a teenager. He’s barely _lived._ Death feels so scary all of a sudden, and he’s flooded with all the things he hasn’t done.

But what pains Johnny more now, is all those things Pony said, does he still mean them now? Johnny doesn’t know if he’s the only Greaser who has noticed Pony’s change since his parents’ accident, doesn’t know if anyone else has noticed how Pony, who was already the quietest, most sensitive Curtis brother anyway, has become more introvert and dejected from everything, but he certainly _has_ noticed and it scares him now more than ever.

Ponyboy has one of the biggest, if not _the_ biggest chance out of the Greasers after high school. He’s smart as a whip, he can draw and read and run track, and most of all, he’s the only one who doesn’t solve his problems by throwing a punch or slicing a blade. Johnny doesn’t think of the other Greasers as bad or violent, not even Dally despite his track record, but Pony is anything but the street rats they’re made out to be. He’s going to be something, he’s meant to be something, and Johnny just can’t stand the idea of him not getting that chance.

Johnny is snapped out of his thoughts when Pony starts coughing, rough and wracking like it’s tearing his ribs from the cage. He flies into action, grabbing the half-filled cup of water and dashing down the aisle towards his choking friend.

"Here, Pony, drink this," he holds the cup to Pony’s lips and cringes at his wheezes. He barely takes a gulp before he coughs and it spills from his mouth. Johnny rubs his back as he hunches over, body trembling and shaking like a leaf. Johnny has no other way of comforting him during these attacks. "It’s okay, I’m here. Get it out. You’re okay."

It lasts too long for comfort but after what feels like hours, Pony slowly calms down until he’s just wheezing like he’s run a marathon for a day straight. Instead of sitting up, he just slumps against Johnny’s folded legs and rests his head on his thighs.

Johnny strokes his hair. "You all good, Pony?"

Pony makes a faint grunting sound but offers no words.

 

Later that night, Johnny is laying on the cold church floor, trying to stop his mind from conjuring up the image of a warm bed or soft cough to be sleeping on instead of the hard, uneven and uncomfortable boards when Pony suddenly jerks, rolling further onto his side. It takes a moment for Johnny to register the sound he’s hearing and he snaps up, pulling Pony up to stop him choking on the vomit he’s bringing up.

He wretches and gags for minutes, barely bringing anything but the water he drank earlier. He stops soon, gasping for breath but no longer gagging like something is squeezing his tonsils.

"Glory, Ponyboy," Johnny sighs. "What was all that about?"

"Dunno," Pony mumbles, word gargled and breathless. He’s cradled in Johnny’s arms, completely boneless and worn out. Johnny uses the fabric of Merril’s shirt to wipe Pony’s mouth and his own sleeve for the tears on Pony’s cheeks.

"You alright, Pony?" Johnny asks. He feels sick himself with worry. The vomiting is new, and he feels Pony’s forehead, almost flinching at how hot his skin is. He’s no longer sweating, and Johnny isn’t sure if that’s good or bad.

For a long moment, Pony doesn’t respond. He keeps panting ragged and short breaths before he shakes his head.

This is the first time he’s admitting that he’s _not_ okay, and it hits Johnny in the chest like a sucker-punch.

"What can I do?" He whispers. "What can I do to help, Pony?"

Pony sobs, soft and quiet, weak almost. What he says makes Johnny’s heart clench.

"I want my parents. I want my mum, Johnny. I want my dad, and Darry, and Soda. I want to go home. I really, really want to go home."

Johnny has tears in his eyes before Pony is finished, and before he knows it he’s tightening his arms around Pony’s small, frail body, cuddling him closer and they’re crying together.

"I’m sorry, Pony," he whispers into his damp and dirty hair. "I’m so sorry. You’re gonna be going home soon. Darry and Soda are working to get you home. You’ll be with them soon."

Pony sobs, or at least sobs as much as he can with lungs like they have holes in.

He calms down some soon, and Johnny lays them down but still holds Pony close, hugged to his chest like he’s seen Soda do to him so many times when the pair have fallen asleep on the couch while Johnny’s been over.

"M’tired, Johnny," Pony exhales.

"I know, Pone. Try and get some sleep."

"N. . ." Pony whispers with a slight shake of his head under Johnny’s chin, his hair tickling his neck. "'M tired of ev’rythin’. 'M tired of feelin' lousy, n' Darry hatin' me, n' Soda bein' sad of us fighting. 'M not a Greaser, Johnny. . . 'M tired of missing my parents. . ."

"Oh, Pony," Johnny breathes, closing his eyes. "Don’t think like that. Please. Darry don’t hate you, and Soda isn’t sad. You guys fight because you love each other, and you’re just as much of a Greaser as me. You’re tough as hell, Ponyboy. You’re tougher than any of the Greasers and y’know why? Because you _feel_ things, and you ain’t ashamed of feeling things. You stand up for what you believe in, and you’re so strong. Y’know that?"

"'M not strong, Johnny."

"You are. But you gotta be strong for a little longer, okay? Darry and Soda need you to stay strong. I. . . I really need you to stay strong," he strokes Pony’s hair, "Alright? Just a little longer."

"'M not sure now long I can do this, Johnny. 'M so tired, ev’ryth’n' hurts."

"Trust me, Ponyboy," Johnny whispers softly. "You have so much to hang onto just a little longer."

Pony breathes haggard and strained for a few more minutes before he sighs. "'M 'kay."

"Okay," Johnny closes his eyes, but he doesn’t sleep. He can’t shake the worry surrounding him: he really needs Soda and Darry to hurry.

Before it’s too late.

 

Johnny doesn’t know if it’s a miracle or a curse, but two things happen the following day.

First, is no matter how much Johnny shakes him, Pony barely wakes up. He’s deathly pale and shivering, skin as hot as fire but dry as sand. When Johnny shakes him to wake, Pony grunts or whimpers or whines, his eyelids flutter enough to show the rolled up whites of his eyes before they fall down still.

Johnny feels like crying. He’s overwhelmed with panic and helplessness. He paces the church floor, chewing his thumb nail bloody and to the quick, eyes trained on Pony’s prone, limp body in the corner.

 _This is it,_ he thinks dizzily. _This is it. It’s too late._

There’s nothing else Johnny can think to do. Nothing else to help Ponyboy. It’s been eight days since they got to the church, and Johnny knows it’s been too long. Darry and Soda are out of time, and now Pony is out of time.

Johnny is trying to rouse him once more when the second thing happens. Johnny hears it late, his focus entirely on Ponyboy’s unresponsive body. He hears the rumble of a car engine as loud and low as a lions warning roar. It’s so loud it’s as if they’re coming through the church walls.

Johnny doesn’t have a moment to decide if it’s Darry or Dally before someone is shouting from outside.

"Johnny! Johnny, are you in there?" He recognises them immediately. He’s up and sprinting towards the front faster than he’s moved in days. His legs are numb underneath him, hands tingling with panic.

"Dally! We’re in here! Dally!"

He meets the older boy at the entrance and Dally takes one look at him before grabbing him by the shoulders.

"You okay, man?"

Johnny shakes his head. He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Dally’s face twists and he feels the sob at the back of his throat.

"It’s Pony," his voice shakes and trembles like his weak legs beneath him. "He’s not waking up, Dall. He’s worse and—"

Dally nods and turns away from him, shouting towards the other car, "Darry, hurry, man!"

Dally wraps an arm around Johnny to move him out of the way as Darry and Soda come running in. They go straight to the back corner where Pony was before, dropping to their knees like the first time. Dally leads Johnny over with him.

"He’s got a fever, like Monroe said. He’s not sweating either, Dar. He said that was bad, didn’t he?" Soda is saying, stroking Pony’s hair off his forehead.

"Yeah,’ Darry says absentmindedly. He’s cradling Pony’s cheeks, stroking his temples. He speaks to him softly, voice hushed and gentle, trying to coax him awake.

Soda’s eyes fill with tears. "Why ain’t he waking up, Dar?"

"I don’t know. We need to hurry. Monroe said we can take him to his as soon as we get back," Darry says, and then he’s picking up a blanket off the floor he must have brought in. Without another word, Darry wraps Pony’s limp body in the blanket and scoops him up off the floor and stands.

Johnny almost cries at how _tiny_ Pony looks in that moment. Swamped in a blanket, head heavy and rolling against Darry’s arm, eyes closed. He hangs like a rag doll, like all the bones have melted in his body and he has the strength soaked cardboard.

Soda runs ahead, looking back every few moments as Darry carries Pony out like he weighs nothing.

The church suddenly feels so empty and silent without the harsh, strained breathing that’s filled it for the last week.

"Come on, Johnny," Dally tugs him. "We gotta go. They’ve got a doctor waiting for Pony back home."

Johnny feels himself stop short when they get outside. Soda and Darry are loading Pony into the back seats.

"Wait," Johnny stumbles to a stop. His legs feel like a newborn foal. "I can’t. . . the chair. . . what about—"

"It’s all sorted, Johnny," Dally says. "Y’ain’t going in the chair. Darry’s got it sorted for you."

Johnny shakes his head in disbelief. "What. . . how—"

"Johnny," a hand lands on his shoulder and he looks up at Darry. "Kid, we’ll explain when we get home but we gotta go. Alright? We gotta go right now."

They lead Johnny to the car and he climbs in the front passenger as Dally takes the wheel and Darry gets in the back. Johnny turns around as Dally starts driving, looking into the backseats where Soda has Pony’s head in his lap and Darry has his feet.

Johnny wants to say something. He wants to apologise, to thank them all, to tell them what’s happened, but he can’t form the words. He’s suddenly so tired, wiped out like someone has drained all of his energy. He slumps in the upholstery, sagging like a puppet who’s strings have been cut. He looks out the front window but everything is a blur, he can’t force his eyes to focus on anything. Dally’s driving is fast and dangerous as always, cutting corners and skidding the back wheels.

Johnny doesn’t fall asleep, but he doesn’t know how they get back to Tulsa so fast until Dally is peeling across the train tracks and the jolt of the car throws Johnny back into the presence.

And that’s when he notices that they’re not in Tulsa at all.

"Where are we going?" Johnny asks.

"A family friend of our fathers is a private doctor. He moved to Kansas years ago. He has a private doctors practice and he said we can bring Pony in," Darry replies.

"Do you think he’s gonna be able to do anything?" Johnny asks, looking around. He feels sick to his stomach. Pony is drowning in the blanket, but Johnny can see his face, resting on Soda’s legs while his hand runs through the matted strands of his bleached hair. His eyes are closed as they were before, eyelashes twitching ever-so slightly as he breathes in short, shallow gasps.

"He’s the best doctor we know," Soda insists. "He’s gonna fix Pony right up, isn’t he, Dar?"

Darry nods, but his eyes are firmly trained on Ponyboy.

"How long, Dally?" He asks.

"Not long," Dally answers. "How’s he doing?"

"Just hurry."

Johnny slumps back in the seat. Dally’s right: they’re not long. Before Johnny knows it, the car is rolling to a stop outside a house just off the interstate. It’s isolated, no one else around, standing alone.

Darry throws the door open the moment the car is stopped in the dust, climbing out and pulling Pony into his arms again. Soda climbs out, leaving the doors open behind them as they run up to the house.

"Come on," Dally says, climbing out too and shutting the doors behind the Curtis brothers. Johnny can barely get his legs to move underneath him as Dally leads him into the house. It’s huge, bigger than Johnny has ever seen a house. It’s bigger than the biggest Sac’s houses in Tulsa.

"Come here," Dally says when they get inside. "Come sit down."

Dally pulls him into a room with three sofa’s and a bookcase. He drops down heavily on one of the fresh looking couches beside Dally.

"It’s going to be okay now, Johnny," Dally murmurs softly, softer than he’s ever spoken.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but suddenly he’s laying against Dally and the world is gone.

 

When he wakes up, he’s alone but a blanket is over him. He feels disorientated, like he did the first morning at the church.

He sits up on the couch, rubbing his eyes and trying to find his bearings.

"Hey, sleepy-head."

His head snaps up and towards the door, where Dally stands leaning against the frame.

"Hi," Johnny says sheepishly. "How’s—"

"It’s not good," Dally answers. "Monroe is doing everything he can, but Pony’s in a bad way. The Doc is doing everything, but apparently his lungs are like filled balloons."

Johnny nods. Sometimes, he’s grateful for Dally’s brashness, for his truthfulness. Sometimes, he absolutely hates it and doesn’t want to hear things how they are. Johnny isn’t sure what he’d rather right now.

"Is he gonna get better?"

Dally smiles wolfishly. "Of course. It’s Ponyboy. He’s small but he’s tough as Two-Bit’s boots."

Johnny plays with a loose thread on the blanket.

"Monroe said you could use his bath if you wanna clean up. Darry and Soda brought some of Pony’s clothes for you guys to wear. We could probably burn the stuff you’re wearing now."

Johnny laughs, nodding.

When he’s washing, he notices the scabs on his knees. He runs his fingers over them, the bruises beneath having faded to a healing yellow and brown. It feels like a lifetime ago they jumped off the moving train to Windrixville. Johnny should have seen the signs of Pony being sick then. He should have notices the changes in his best friend like he had noticed them all after his parents’ accident.

It’s only been nine days, but it feels like a lifetime.

The clothes the Curtis brothers brought from Pony’s wardrobe are slightly tight across the shoulders and short in the trousers but they fit him now more than they would have a week ago. Johnny’s stomach rumbles with hunger as he pulls the jumper on and dries his hair once more to stop it from dripping.

He finds Dally and Soda in the living room when he comes down. They both look up when he walks in.

"Hey, Johnnycake," Soda smiles. "Feel better?"

Johnny nods, because he really does. The bath did some magic.

"D’you want something to eat?" Soda asks. "I just got back from getting everyone some burgers."

Johnny’s stomach gives another rumble and a spike of pain shoots through his abdomen.

"Please, he says. The burger makes him feel so full he almost feels nauseated. He’s exhausted by the time he’s done, his body weighted with food and the events of what’s happened.

"Monroe wants to look over you when you feel like it," Soda says when he’s finished his food too. "He said he just wants to check you’re okay too."

Johnny nods. "I’m fine. It was just. . ."

Johnny feels choked saying his name as if he’s already gone. He looks down at his lap and Dally silently wraps an arm around his shoulders.

"Hey, Johnny," Soda is suddenly crouched in front of him, looking up with his big eyes. He looks so much like Pony then. "None of this is your fault, kid. You saved Ponyboy in the park, and you saved him in Windrixville. He’s gonna be okay because of you."

"Is he though?" Johnny whispers. "He was so sick, Soda. He wouldn’t wake up and he—"

"I know. I know, baby, but we got him here in time," Soda grabs his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Monroe’s helping him. He’s gonna be okay."

"Do you promise?" Johnny hates how childish he feels, but he feels as small as a child and can’t help but feel like his heart is being squeezed in his chest. He doesn’t know if he wants to scream or cry.

Soda smiles sadly. "Monroe promised me, so I’ll promise you. Pony’s going to make it."

 _Make it_. Johnny clings to those words. Soda didn’t say Pony is going to be fine, or good as new, or okay. He just said he is going to 'make it'.

"What. . . what’s going to happen with Bob?" Johnny asks.

Soda exhales and looks too Dally for a moment.

"Darry’s got it sorted, and he can probably tell you better than me," Soda says slowly. "But I promise you, you ain’t going in the chair. You ain’t even gonna get arrested. They’re gonna put you in front of the judge, but it’s only so you can tell your side of the story. You got everyone on your side, Johnny. Darry said a bunch of Soc’s have stepped up and laid the blame of Bob. They’re saying it’s self-defence, but they need to hear it from you too."

"The. . . Soc’s?"

Soda nods and laughs lightly. "I know. I couldn’t believe it too. Some Randy kid and a girl started it. They said Bob was drunk, said he took it too far and tried to drown Pony. They found Bob’s knife and said him having a weapon on him worked in your favour, that it proved to the judge it was self-defence."

"What. . . what’s gonna happen after?"

"I don’t know. But half the Soc’s who were there have already been arrested. They’re only looking for you guys to get you to talk, but Darry told them to back off because Pony’s real sick."

Johnny didn’t mean to cry. He didn’t want to break down like a baby, but suddenly his throat felt thick and his eyes were stinging and Soda and Dally were wrapping him up in a double hug. He sobs, he shakes like he’s falling apart. He cries more than he’s cried before, and suddenly everything he’s felt in the last week rises to the surface and breaks through the water. It crashes into him like a wall, colliding head on and he can’t stop.

Darry hugs him as soon as he see’s him. He wraps him up in his huge arms, enveloping him completely. Johnny refuses to cry again, but he can’t help but melt into the oldest Greaser.

Monroe is a normal looking man. He’s almost as tall as Darry, with a large chin and a head of greying hair. He smiles ta Johnny like a father smiling at a son when he first see’s him. He does a quick check, assured after that Johnny is unscathed apart from malnutrition and exhaustion. Johnny manages not to mention that’s kind of the norm.

"Can I see Ponyboy?" He asks.

Monroe looks at him. He nods, "Of course, kiddo. I gotta tell you, you should be proud of yourself for how you’ve managed to help your friend. Not a lot of people would have been able to keep someone in Pony’s condition alive for as long as you did."

"He’s real sick, isn’t he?"

Monroe nods. He looks genially sad, like Pony is one of his own. Darry _did_ say that Monroe knew their father, so maybe he does look at the Curtis brothers as some kind of secondary sons.

"He is, but you got him here in time."

"What. . . what’s wrong with him?"

"Pneumonia, son. He swallowed a lot of water when he almost drowned in that fountain. It got stuck in his lungs, and pretty quickly it seemed to get infected."

"Pneumonia?" Johnny echoes.

"It’s a lung condition. It can be very dangerous, and usually quite easily treated with the right medicine."

"Is the medicine working on Ponyboy?"

"Due to the severity of his pneumonia, the oxygen levels in his body were drastically reduced leading to his organs becoming starved of oxygen. It’s not the pneumonia as such that was making him sick, it was that his organs and body weren’t able to function properly. His kidneys were beginning to shut down when you brought him here, so he looks pretty scary right now because all the machines are going to help his body get all the oxygen and the blood he needs."

"But. . . he’s going to be okay, right?"

"He’s improving, and if he wasn’t going too he would have shown it by now. It’s going to be a slow recovery. His body is weak, but as he’s already showing signs of higher oxygen and blood levels I’d say he’s going to be fine."

"Oh."

"He may have long-lasting lung problems when this is all over, but as far as recovery, I can say he is going to be alright."

Johnny nods a few times, slightly dazed by the rush of information.

"Come on, let’s go see him," Monroe motions his head to the door and starts walking out. "He’s not awake, but you can hold his hand just don’t move the IV."

"The what?"

Monroe laughs softly. "You’ll see. I think Darry is in there with him too."

Johnny nods and follows the doctor into the room at the end of the hall.

He’s right when he said Pony looks scary. He’s small and pale and haunting in the bed that looks too big for his fragile, sick body. He’s pale enough to match the sheets, his chest rising and falling slowly. There’s beeping machines around him, wires attached to his hands and arms. He has a tube going in his nose, blankets pulled up to his chest.

Darry is sitting in a chair beside him, reading a book in one hand and the other holding Pony’s on the bed, stroking his knuckles absent-mindly. He looks up when Johnny steps inside, flashing him a smile.

"Hey, Monroe give you the all clear?"

Johnny nods, but can’t keep his eyes off Ponyboy.

"Come here," Darry says after a moment, placing the book down and grabbing a chair from up against the wall. Johnny sits down in it beside him, so close to Pony he can see the twitching of his eyelashes as he sleeps.

"He’s okay, Johnny," Darry murmurs softly. "The machines are scary but they’re helping him."

"Good," Johnny whispers.

This is the closest things Johnny has seen to a hospital. He’s never seen machines like these before, never seen someone sick like this before. He’d never imagined that Pony would be the one in the bed either.

"Talk to me, kiddo," Darry says. "Tell me what’s on your mind."

Johnny chews on the thought for a moment that Darry is talking to him like he does Soda and Ponyboy. He’s talking to him like one of his own brothers.

Johnny swallows convulsively. He doesn’t know how to say this. He’s scared of Darry’s answer, scared of his reaction.

Scared of his rejection.

"I. . . I’m just. . . I’m r-really sorry."

He looks down and misses Darry’s frown, the tight furrow of his brows and the wrinkle in his forehead.

"Hey," he murmurs. "Johnny, please look at me."

Johnny takes a deep breath and raises his eyes.

Darry is looking directly at him, lips drawn down tight.

"Johnny, why are you sorry?"

"Because of what happened. Because if I hadn’t ki—. . . if I hadn’t s-stabbed Bob then Pony wouldn’t have had to r-runaway and he wouldn’t have gotten so s-sick and—"

"Hey, hey, Johnny," Darry interrupts. "Slow down, kid. What happened wasn’t your fault, not at all. Glory, you wanted to turn yourself in just so Pony could come home. You were gonna put yourself straight in the chair for him, Johnny, and I can’t expand o you how that made me feel. The only person to blame right now is Bob, and I ain’t sorry I’m happy he’s dead. You didn’t kill him, Johnny. He killed himself, you just protected yourself and my little brother. It was defence, and everyone knows that. Don’t you _dare_ minimise what you did, how brave you were for going up against those Soc’s."

"If I’d just told Pony to go home, if we’d just ran when they turned up—"

"Johnny, if you keep thinking like that, you’re gonna make yourself sick," Darry whispers. "If you’re thinking like that, then maybe it’s my fault for hitting Pony and making him run. If I hadn’t hit him, he woulda been at home, and you woulda been in the lot. Does that make it my fault?"

"No," Johnny shakes his head vehemently. "No, Darry. You couldn’t have known. You. . . you were arguing and—"

"And you were protecting yourself and Pony. What happened to Bob wasn’t your fault, what happened to Pony wasn’t your fault, you guys running away was _not your fault_. Y’hear me? You ain’t to blame here, Johnny."

Johnny feels his eyes sting and he knows he’s crying again. He wipes his eyes furiously.

"Darry, I. . ." he swallows the dry lump in his throat.

Darry says nothing as he wraps his arm around Johnny’s shoulders and pulls him into his side for a small hug.

"Me and the Greasers will tell you everyday if we have to till you get it," he says. "Not a single thing that has happened is your fault. You saved Pony, you kept him alive, and me and Soda will never be able to do anything to pay you back for that."

Johnny nods and closes his eyes. "Thank you, Darry. And. . . thank you for sorting the stuff out with the Court House."

"Don’t you worry about that, it’s all sorted. No way was I gonna let you or Pony come home and be punished for something you’re not to blame for."

"How. . . how did you do it?"

Darry smiles. "Can’t tell, it’s my secret party trick, kiddo."

"Did you. . ." Johnny licks his lips. His heart is suddenly racing and he can’t look Darry in the eye when he finds the strength in his chest to ask. "Did you speak to my p-parents?"

Darry is silent for a long time. Johnny feels the older male stiffen against him, going like a rigid board at his side.

"I. . . I did."

Johnny doesn’t know why he keeps pressing. He’s not even sure he wants to know the answer, but hearing Darry care so much about him and Pony has made his heart ache with the need for answers. He wants, _needs_ more than anything for his own parents to care about him like that.

"And?"

Darry sighs and rubs his face.

"Johnny, they. . . I went to tell them what happened, told them what I sorted with the Court and that you were no longer wanted. I told them we were bringing you home, and they. . . you ain’t going back to them, Johnny."

Johnny blinks. "What?"

"You ain’t ever going back there. I should have got you outta there a long time ago, but now, after everything that’s happened, I won’t be able to live with myself if I let you go back to them," Darry looks down at him. "They’re no good, Johnny. They may be your family, but they’re not family. They don’t deserve you, not one bit."

"But. . ." his lower lip wobbles. "But w-where am I gonna go, Dar? I don’t want them to send me away. I don’t wanna leave you guys. I can’t. . . I can’t leave Pony after what’s happened."

"You ain’t going anywhere, Johnny," Darry shakes his head. "You’re staying with us, with me, Soda and Pony. Till we figure it out, you’re staying with us, where it’s safe."

Johnny forces himself to meet Darry’s eyes. He looks for the lie, for the false-sense of security. He finds nothing, nothing but remorse and honesty and warmth. They look almost exactly like Pony’s, only darker.

"I. . . I don’t know what to say," Johnny murmurs.

Darry smiles and squeezes his shoulder. "Don’t say anything, kid. Just stop blaming yourself, okay?"

Johnny nods. "Okay."

 

Pony is awake the next day. Monroe checks his memory and his responses before he lets them all see him. Pony smiles as soon as he see’s them, and Soda pulls him into a hug straight away. Darry and Soda fuss over him for a few minutes until Pony tells them to pack it in and Johnny just enjoys hearing him, seeing his eyes open to defy the sick way he looks. He sounds like nails on chalkboards, but he's awake and that's all that matters to Johnny. 

Dally comes back in the afternoon with Steve and Two-Bit.

"Johnny-kins!" Two-Bit shouts when he sees him standing in the living room. He runs towards him, yanking him into a hug that hurts. "Thank Mickey you're safe. We were worried about you, and Ponyboy."

"Thanks, Two-Bit," he mumbles into the older boys shoulder, sinking into the hug.

When they pull apart, Two-Bit ruffles his hair before going to Darry. Steve takes his place and pulls him in for a side hug, rubbing his head affectionately.

"We missed you, kid," he says. "You tough little hood."

Johnny ducks from his hand and looks to Dally, who winks at him.

"Soda in with Pony?" He asks Darry, who nods.

"He's awake too," Darry adds. "Monroe said he's out of the woods now. He ain't worried anymore."

"Let's see the little twerp, then," Two-Bit grins. "I missed his little face."

Darry rolls his eyes but leads the way.

As he said, Pony is awake. Soda is sitting in the chair by the bed, grinning from ear to ear at something Pony'd just said when Darry opens the door.

Both their heads turn towards the door and Two-Bit goes running in.

"Pony!" He cries happily, taking place beside his bed and pulls him into a hug.

"Gentle, Two-Bit, or you'll pull all the wires out," Darry warns.

"Lighten up, big guy," Two-Bit grins, still holding Ponyboy. "I've missed my favourite little Greaser."

"Shut up, Two-Bit," Pony rasps, and Two-Bit rubs his head with his knuckles in retaliation.

"Two-Bit! Gentle!" Darry scolds again, but Pony only giggles under Two-Bits hand, gasping when he coughs.

Soda leaps to his feet to grab the jug of water and pours it into a cup as soon as Pony starts choking and sputtering.

"Here, baby, drink this. Calm down, breathe."

"Well done," Darry snarls.

Two-Bit holds both of his hands up from where he was helping Soda keep Pony in a sitting position.

"It’s okay," Pony wheezes in-between sips. His cheeks are flushed but the rest of his skin is so scarily colourless. ""M okay, Darry. It wasn’t Two-Bit."

"He’s too rough with you," Darry repeats, still frowning.

Pony rolls his eyes playfully as he leans into Soda, who’s sitting at the head of the bed beside him.

"Where’s Monroe?" Soda asks.

"He’s gone into town. Said he had to run some errands," Darry replies, arms folded across his chest.

"How’s the garage, Steve?"

Steve looks at his best friend from where he’s standing with Dally by the door.

He smirks, "Just waiting for you to get back. Hey, kid, gave your brothers a bit of a scare."

Pony ducks his head shyly.

"Kinda missed having you around to annoy me," Steve adds, and Pony smiles.  
"Thanks, Steve," he says, and they all know that’s the closest they’re going to get to Steve saying he was worried about Ponyboy.

"Guess you can’t smoke your precious cancer sticks anymore, huh, Pone?" Dally asks with a chuckle.

"No, you are not," Darry adds sternly.

Pony smiles and slumps into Soda, who wraps his arm around his shoulder and cuddles him close. He still has the tube in his nose and the needles in his hands because Monroe said his body was still restoring his levels of oxygen.

Two-Bit chuckles. "How are you gonna cope?"

Ponyboy grumbles and coughs softly. "I’ll find a way."

"You will not!" Darry repeats, and they all laugh.

 

Darry, Dally and Steve drive with Johnny back to Tulsa a few days later for the court hearing. Johnny feels numb like he did on the way to Monroe’s practice. He sits stock-still in the back of the car, between Steve and Dally. His mind is both empty and running a mile a minute. No amount of reassurance from Dally, Darry or Soda could shake off the discomfort Johnny has for going into this courthouse. They have tried and failed to promise him that no matter what, the court has already made up their mind and him and Ponyboy aren’t guilty for whole ordeal, but they still can’t close the case until Johnny confirms what happened.

Johnny wishes he doesn’t have to do it. He wishes more than anything that he could be with Ponyboy in bed, sleeping it away. Johnny would never admit it out loud, and he hates himself for thinking it, but he would do anything to be in Pony’s shoes right now and not having to do this.

"Stop worrying, man," Dally says, ruffling his hair. "You’re gonna give yourself a headache."

"I’m fine," Johnny insists, but it sounds fake even in his own ears.

"It’s going to be fine," Darry says from the front. He’s driving, and he looks at Johnny in the rearview mirror. His eyes are hard and intense but hold the familiar softness Johnny has come to know. "Everyone in that room is on your side. All you gotta do is tell them how it happened."

Johnny nods, but that’s what worries him most: he’s got to tell them what happened. Johnny has barely been able to repeat the story to Dally, Darry and Soda, and when he had to repeat it to Two-Bit and Steve when they turned up later. Every time Johnny has to tell it, he relives it. He can feel the terror and the panic like a lump in his throat, choking him. The images of Pony being held down in the fountain, of Bob’s surprised face when he got stabbed, the way his body laid still and limp on the floor after his heart stopped, the pool of blood beneath him. He can hear like a deafening shout in his ear the sound of Pony’s sputtering, Bob’s haunting voice, the wet splatters Pony’s soaked and lifelessly flopping body made when Johnny pulled him out of the water. He relives it all, and it scares him to his core.

"It’s gonna be fine, Johnny," Darry says as they walk into the house. He has his arm around Johnny, pulled him close to his side. Johnny appreciates the comfort, and likes that he can hide against Darry for a little bit longer. "We’re all with you. You just gotta tell the story and they’ll let us go home."

"Do it for Pony, yeah, little man?" Steve says, and Johnny doesn’t miss the way the other two Greasers have flashes of surprise on their faces.

They’re all ushered inside and Johnny feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest the entire time. He recognises the Soc’s in the benches, and Cherry even flashes him a small smile that he doesn’t have the heart to return. His ears are loud with the sound of his blood roaring in them as the judge talks. He can’t feel his hands and feet as he walks to the stand. His mouth feels stuffed with cotton when he speaks and retells what happened that night.

Dally wraps his arm around his shoulder and Darry squeezes his knee when he comes to sit in-between them after he’s done. He feels as shaken as a traumatised baby, ready to burst into tears. He wants the ground to swallow him whole, for this whole ordeal to be a big, huge nightmare. The judge talks some more, but Johnny can’t hear anything other than his own mind telling him to calm down.

Suddenly, everyone is rising to stand. Johnny looks up at Darry, Steve and Dally in confusion.

What is happening? Has the judge changed their mind? Is he going to the chair?

"Come on, little man. It’s over," Dally says.

"Over?" Johnny echoes.

Darry squeezes his shoulder. "All done. Courts closed."

"C-courts. . ." Johnny looks between them all, then around the room at everyone leaving. "Courts closed?"

"It’s all over, Johnny,"Dally says. "You did it. The judge called it final. You are Pony are all clear."

Johnny lets out a long breath. "All clear?"

Dally grins all teeth. He winks, "All clear."

He walks out in a kind of daze. He is in-between Darry and Dally until they get to the car where Johnny curls up against Dally in the back. He feels exhausted with relief, as if all the tension in his shoulders have been released and he can’t hold himself up anymore.

He did it. It’s over. They’re all okay.

He can’t stop repeating it to himself. It’s like a broken record in his head, on repeat and repeat and repeat. He just wants to sleep now. He wants to sleep somewhere safe with all the Greasers around him.

He doesn’t need to ask where Darry is taking them. He just focuses on breathing slow and normal, pressed against Dally until the car rolls to a stop. They all climb out, and Dally doesn’t let Johnny even step away from his side as they walk up the steps to the Curtis house.

While they were all at the Court House, Soda and Two-Bit moved Ponyboy home. Monroe said he didn’t need the oxygen or blood machines anymore so if Ponyboy wanted to move, he could go home as long as they promised to keep him on his meds and for Monroe to come over every few days to check on his lungs.

Johnny appreciates that Darry came with him today despite what was going on with Pony. Darry insisted, and so did Soda, that Johnny needed him there at court more than Pony did. Even Pony told Johnny to stop being so funny about it, that he had Soda and Two-Bit with him and Johnny needed all the support he could get.

"How’d it go?" Soda asks at the door.

"All good. Just as we expected," Dally answers, giving Johnny’s shoulder a squeeze.

Soda grins. "Good, good. You alright, Johnny?"

Johnny nods, smiling back because he finally feels like he can.

"How’s Pony?" Darry asks.

"He’s fine, sleeping on the couch right now. Two-Bit’s with him," Soda replies.

Darry nods and goes inside, Steve following in suit.

"You two want any chocolate cake before Two-Bit eats it all?" Soda asks as he shuts the front door behind them.

Johnny doesn’t answer as he makes his way into the living room where, just as Soda assured, Pony is.

He’s on the couch, laying under a blanket with head in Two-Bits lap. He’s still pale and frail-looking, but he doesn’t look as close to deaths door as he did almost a week ago when they got to Monroes. Darry makes a beeline for him, crouching beside his head and running a hand through his hair.

Pony’s eyes open slowly, and Johnny see’s a soft smile curl on his face.

"Hey," he rasps. "How’d it go?"

"All good, little guy," Darry murmurs. "It’s all done. Johnny did great."

Pony blinks lethargically. "Tha’s good."

"It is. He’s here, Steve and Dally too," Darry replies. "How are you feeling?"

"'M fine, promise."

"Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

Pony shakes his head, his eyes drooping.

"You sure, baby?" Soda asks from the kitchen doorway.

Pony nods again. "'M just tired."

"Okay, baby," Darry says, running his hand over his head again. "Get some more sleep."

Pony hums and his eyes close as if he can’t hold them open anymore.

"Is it normal for him to still be sleeping so much?" Johnny asks, worry slightly in his tone.

Darry stands and nods. "Yeah. Monroe said his body needs to heal and the medicine would make him sleepy anyway. As long as he doesn’t have a fever and isn’t struggling to breathe anymore than he was before, he should be fine."

"Come on, man," Dally nudges him. "Lets get some cake. I’m starving."

Later, they’re all gathered in the living room, Darry sitting on the couch with Pony’s feet in his lap and the other Greasers on the chairs and floor. The TV plays for Two-Bit, Steve and Soda. Darry is talking quietly to Dally about what happened at the Court House and Johnny can barely keep his eyes open where he leans against Dally’s side.

He looks behind him at Pony, like he has done every few minutes since they all got home. He doesn’t know why, but he just needs to keep seeing Pony, with his own eyes, that he’s still there, okay and resting and _alive_.

He feels a hand squeeze his shoulder and he looks up to meet Darry’s eyes, who smiles softly, understandingly.

"We’re all okay, kid," he whispers.

Johnny nods, because they are.

They’re all okay.

 

_— the end._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i'm so obsessed with the outsiders i have never loved a group of boys more than i love these ones. if i could transport myself into any universe it would be there's just so i can witness what it is like to care for a group of people like these boys care for each other <3


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